


Castiel Novak and The Hunstman

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Kisses, M/M, Physical Therapist Castiel, Slow Burn, The Hunstman Dean, Torture, Violence, fairytaleSupernatural!AU, keep Cas safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Physical Therapist Castiel Novak just wanted to help people blown apart by tragedy. And he was good at it. But one night, he sees something he shouldn't have, and underworld figure Alastair Heyerdahl, sends The Hunstman after him. </p><p>But things don't go according to Alastair's plan. </p><p>Cas once helped a young Lieutenant recover from injuries sustained when a roadside bomb exploded while he was stationed in Iraq. </p><p>That young Lieutenant is The Huntsman's brother. </p><p>The Huntsman, Dean Winchester, now pledges to save the guy that got his baby brother walking again. </p><p>But keeping him out of Alastair's hands won't be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So okay...I had an idea... 
> 
> Snow White and the Huntsman.
> 
> Do you like it?

“Two more steps,” Tyler’s gravel voiced physical therapist demanded from behind him. 

“My knee’s gonna go,” Corporal Tyler Johnston complained, sweating.

“Your knee is only going to collapse if you allow it. Don’t let it.” Castiel Novak, aka The Master of Pain, so named by all of his clients, spoke in flat tones. “Draw down. Acknowledge the pain, but don’t let it rule you. We have discussed scale. Remember that scale. Slow burn is okay, spike means stop. If it’s still burning, you can do it. Keep going.” 

Tyler took a firmer grip on the parallel bars, his shoulders screaming from the effort of stabilising himself as he gingerly tested the limits of his physical endurance after getting his left leg amputated below the knee and the right leg reconstructed with a web of scars and knotted tissue. 

“God. Cas,” he hissed between gritted teeth. 

The voice was firm. “No. Stay focused. Breath out. Now. You are holding it.” 

“I’m going to fucking pass out.” 

“I’m right here. Three steps.” 

“Cas…” 

“Three.” Castiel was unyielding. 

Tyler tensed his jaw, and took a single thigh trembling step. He wavered. A second step, smaller, shuffling on the prosthetic. Then a third, and his elbow wobbled. A strong arm caught him around the chest and held him up. He gasped as he was lowered into the wheelchair he had been aiming for. He closed his eyes and panted. 

“Good. Tomorrow you do another pass. Massage now, fifteen minutes, then you can go.” 

Tyler visibly winced. “Tell me you aren’t gonna do it?” 

“For that I leave you to the tender ministrations of Gabriel.” Castiel typed rapid notes into his tablet, peering over it at Tyler. “But more smart comments like that and I will take you to the hydro pool next time.” 

Tyler released the locks on his wheelchair and grinned up at Castiel like the kid he still was, his face roughened with patchy stubble. 

“Thanks, Cas, you utter bastard.” 

“You’re welcome.” Castiel returned the smile with a faint one of his own that faded as the kid wheeled away. 

Eighteen years old. Castiel sighed, eyeing the young soldier with a troubled gaze. Patching them back together physically was a monumental task. He couldn’t even begin to understand the psychological. That was just too daunting. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets, tiredness making them sting. He turned his wrist and checked the time. Seven fifteen. He grimaced. 

 

Castiel locked the side door of the therapy centre behind him as the clock ticked over eight thirty. The medical complex was quiet, but he didn’t regret not living closer. He preferred his small apartment in a complex of eight overlooking the bay. It gave him separation from the job even though it was another thirty minute drive home.

He tucked the centre keys into his pockets and withdrawing his car keys, he headed for the barely lit parking lot. There were two cars still there. His own ’74 Ford Mustang and a sleek little Mazda. He hitched his backpack onto his shoulder in a more comfortable position and yawned mightily. 

He didn’t think anything of the popping sound. 

He didn’t even turn around. 

But when he heard the scream of pain, followed by sobbing, he turned his head toward the other car. Two men in black clothing stood over a third. Both had military rifles slung over their shoulders. 

He blinked in surprise, frozen to the spot, keys outstretched, staring across the roof of his car at the horrifying sight. 

A fourth man joined the tableau. 

Tall. Lean features. Salt and pepper beard, and large meaty hands that held a pistol. 

The guy on the ground was Tyler. The kid had his hands over his head and was cowering.

Castiel fumbled out his phone and hit 911. 

His voice was a fierce whisper when the operator came on the line. 

“My name is Castiel Novak. I work in the Green Hills Medical Centre, Tacoma. Three gun men are in the parking lot outside the centre. They have Corporal Tyler Johnston on the ground. All three have weapons. They look like they might shoot him. I need help. Hurry. Please.” 

_“Are you safe, Mister Novak?”_

“They don’t know I’m here. But I can’t just let them kill the kid.”

_“MP’s are on their way. Just stay down. Stay on the line. If you can record anything safely, do so, but do not put yourself at risk.”_  

Castiel dropped to his knees, the joints protesting a little on the cold ground. He crawled to the end of the car, and peered around. The two gun men were peering out into the darkness, toward the main room, obviously watching for passing vehicles. They weren’t paying attention to the guy in the battered old coat creeping around on the oil slick bitumen. 

He could just hear the man speaking to Tyler. 

“I told your brother to pay his debt, or I would take it out on his family.” 

“Please. Don’t,” Tyler whimpered. “Please. Whatever my brother owes, I will pay you.” 

“Now, see, it don’t work like that.” The cracked voice had a vague accent Castiel found hard to pin down. He opened up the video app on his phone and silently thanked Balthazar for convincing him to upgrade from his old flip phone. The image quality was poor in this light, but the protagonists were still recognisable. 

The tinny voice came through the phone speaker and he hurriedly turned it down. 

“Please don’t hurt me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The tall guy said with a note of amusement in his husky tones. “But I do want to hurt your brother. I believe there are three more of you. Maybe if I go through them too, he will get the hint.” 

“No…no. Please… no…” Tyler begged for his life, and Castiel’s eyes blurred with tears. He wouldn’t look away. 

The shot was sudden and shocking. Tyler’s pleading was cut off and the resounding silence carved through Castiel like a knife. 

He pressed the hard edge of his phone into his brow and clenched his teeth shut. 

A minute later, he heard the creak and slam of several car doors, then a powerful engine roaring. Oh god. They were leaving. They were leaving, and he had done nothing. 

The cops found him crouched near the body, unable to touch the young man he had been teaching to walk again over the past few weeks, but unable to leave. 

The blur of the following hours was stunning. They had his phone, his fingerprints, his statement. It was long past midnight before he managed to get into bed. 

 

When he drove back into work the following morning, the site was still taped off and blue uniforms were everywhere, talking to everyone. 

“Hey, Castiel. You doing okay?” Gabe, their full time massage therapist, studied him, concern etching his features.

“I’m fine, Gabriel,” Castiel replied, jaw set rigidly, as he tossed his backpack into his locker, along with the warm coat he wouldn’t need. 

“C’mon, man. It was Tyler. Everyone liked that kid.” 

“Including me.” Castiel said stiffly. “I’m aware. I’m fine, I just want to get on with my day.”

“You don’t wanna take time off?” Gabe’s brows winged upwards in surprise. 

“If I did, I would still be at home.” 

Gabriel scowled and watched him head out to the PT rooms. 

 

When Castiel slid into his cool sheets later that evening, he was exhausted. His eyes were like sandpaper, his throat aching with the effort to hold back the tears. He buried his face into his pillow and wished like hell someone was there just to wrap their arms around him and tell him it was all going to be okay. 

Instead, all he felt was a change in the air of the room. 

It was subtle. 

A shift. 

A sound that wasn’t there before. 

He turned his head, his brows drawn together with a frown, and froze. 

“I apologise for this.” The voice was faintly drawling, dispassionate. 

Castiel flinched back as a pistol held by a tall figure glinted in the light from the window. 

“Who are you?” he gasped out. 

The guy didn’t speak. He just flicked the safety on the pistol. 

“What do you want?” Castiel continued, his hands clenching into fists, even has his vision narrowed on the gun barrel. 

“I’m the Huntsman. I guess you annoyed the wrong folks, buddy.” 

“I…just do physical therapy. On army vets.” Castiel shook his head on the pillow. “Who could I have pissed off?” 

There was a hesitation. A long arm reached out and flicked on a bedside light. 

“Castiel Novak?” For the first time, the voice was uncertain. 

“Yes?” Castiel frowned then. “Wait. You are going to…what?…kill me? And you didn’t know my name?” He stared at the figure just outside the halo of light cast by the light bulb. 

The pistol was rammed back into a holster. “God damm it.” 

Castiel eased to sitting. “I’m a little confused here.” 

The guy finally entered the light and the sight of him took Castiel’s breath away. Short dark blonde hair, exquisitely carved features, brilliant hazel green eyes. 

“You and me both.” The guy said. “I was meant to kill you tonight.” His expression winced almost apologetically. “I didn’t know you were the guy who helped Sam Winchester walk again.” 

“Lieutenant Winchester? Left transtibial amputation. Right knee reconstruction. He was strong. Quick to recovery.” 

This was the strangest conversation he had ever had. And he was buzzing with adrenalin. 

He wanted to throw up. 

“He is my brother.” The Huntsman fidgeted. “And you pissed off a very powerful figure in the underworld around here. Alastair Heyerdahl Filmed him killing someone.” 

“He killed one of my clients.” Castiel clenched his fists at the raw memory. “Just a kid. Hadn’t even done anything. Was just the brother of someone who owed him money.” 

The Huntsman nodded slowly. “That’s how Alastair operates. He wanted hands off with you, so he hired me.” 

Castiel’s chest hurt. Was he done? Was this it? 

“I can’t convince you otherwise?” He asked in a soft voice. 

The Hunstman stared at him thoughtfully. “Pack a bag. Don’t take much. I’m getting you out of here.” 

Castiel swallowed. “I don’t understand.” 

“You helped Sammy. Now I’m going to help you.” 

Castiel clambered out of bed. “You aren’t going to kill me?” 

“No. But if I don’t get you outta here by morning, someone else will.” 

“Th..thankyou.” 

“Name’s Dean. Dean Winchester.” 


	2. Chapter 2

On Dean’s instructions, Castiel lay down on the back bench seat of a huge black Impala that growled and rumbled its way over a series of road surfaces. He clutched his backpack to his chest and stared at the back of Dean’s head. His hair was short, but there were faint runnels as though he ran his finger tips through the strands. 

They drove like that for two hours or so before Castiel broke the silence. 

“Where am I going?” 

“Don’t want to tell you. You will find out when you get there.” 

“Why don’t you want to tell me?” Castiel was mystified.

“Because if they get you anyway, I don’t want you to tell them where you were.” The reply was sharp and blunt. 

Castiel supposed he was right. Fear still churned in his gut, but without death on the immediate horizon, he was doing a little better. And this guy seemed like he had a plan. Even if it involved driving north for six hours. 

He supposed he slept at some point. When the road surface changed to a juddering bounce, he opened his eyes. The vague hint of grey dawn was on the horizon and his body ached. 

“You can sit up,” Dean said. “We’re here.” 

Castiel levered himself upright and blinked tiredly. He stared out of the window. They were driving up a lane very slowly, headlights illuminating soaring pines that lined the drive. Beyond he could see a vast field on one side, on the other was a sweeping lake. A series of outhouses, and two barns appeared from around the next bend, and then Dean pulled up in front of a massive farmhouse.

A tall man was waiting on the front steps, swiping hair out of his eyes. It had grown longer than the last time Castiel had seen him. Sam Winchester was dressed in dark jeans and a sweatshirt. He came down the half dozen steps up to the verandah with barely a hitch in his step. 

Dean cracked his door, and stepped out. Castiel watched the brothers for a moment before clambering out himself, stiff and sore. 

“Hey Sammy.” 

Sam wrapped his brother in a hug, embracing him fiercely. “Dean. What’s going on?” His eyes rested briefly on Castiel, then back to his brother, then immediately back to Castiel, wide with surprise. “Cas?” 

“He’s in trouble. I need him to stay here for a few days until I can sort something out.” 

Sam frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

“I was hired to kill him.” Dean was blunt. 

Sam’s face shifted. Clearly this was a topic that he found distasteful. “You were going to kill the guy that helped me? Jesus, Dean.” He stepped back from his brother. 

“When I found out who he was, I didn’t, alright? I was just given the damn address.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe you need a second think about your job if you were just going to take down a total stranger, don’t ya think?” 

As a potential victim, Castiel was in whole hearted agreement with his former patient. 

“I usually take down very bad people, Sammy. I was told the guy was bad.”

“Wouldn’t want to ask too many questions for your blood money. Wonder how many other innocent people you put a bullet through.” 

Dean’s face grew dark. “Will you look after him or not?” He gestured at Castiel. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Are you staying?” 

“No thanks. Don’t think I could handle the welcome.” 

Sam’s jaw clenched as Dean strode back to his car. Castiel clutched his pack to his chest. 

“I will be back in two days. Might have to be fast.” 

Castiel just nodded mutely. What could he say? 

The two men watched the retreating tail lights of the Impala as it disappeared down the road. 

Sam sighed. “It’s good to see you, Cas. You had better come in so we can get you settled.” 

 

Six am ticked onto the clock as Castiel sat at the huge kitchen table, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. Sam sat opposite, a pissed off look on his face. 

“How have you been?” Castiel ventured. 

“Doing alright.” Sam nodded. “I moved out here a couple months after our last session. I couldn’t deal with the city. Too…much, y’know? So I got this place and moved in. The legs are good. Ache sometimes if I over do it. I sometimes go talk to someone, but generally I ” 

“That’s good.” Castiel sipped of his coffee and sighed in contentment. 

“So…” Sam began, eyeing Castiel. “Why was my brother really going to…y’know?” 

“Kill me?” Castiel rubbed his brow. “I saw something that could convict a killer. The guy wants me gone.”

“Why didn’t the cops put protection on you?” 

“Maybe they did. Your brother seems ..uhh… good at his work. I didn’t even know he was in my apartment.” 

Sam flinched. “Yeah. Well.”

Castiel ran his fingertip around the lip of the cup. “It seems an extreme job for a person. How do you even go about being an assassin for hire?”

“You become an Army Ranger. You become a sniper. You kill a lot of people for a living. Then you come home, decide to leave the army, and join the ‘private contracting sector’.” Sam used the air quotes. “You disappear for a few years, then resurface, earning a lot of money travelling the world doing…this.” 

“Why haven’t you … told anyone?” 

“Would you? He’s my brother. I ..can’t. I just …can’t.” 

“You are angry with him.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Very.” Sam sighed. “He was once a good guy. Decent. Proud of his uniform. But after the last tour, he came home dark, y’know? I wanted him to get help, but he said he was fine.” Sam drove his fingers through his hair. 

Castiel took a slow breath. “I just…ran. I don’t know this world of your brother’s. Frankly, I’m terrified.” 

“Dean will make sure it’s okay.” Sam was confident, and deflated just a little. “Do you have people that will …like…miss you?”

Castiel shrugs with one shoulder. “I have no family. My parents…” He hesitated. “I didn’t have parents. I grew up in the foster system.”

“Friends?” 

“I have work colleagues I have associated with on occasion. I regret leaving so many of my patients. I’m good at what I do. I worry.” 

“I remember.” Sam grimaced, then smiled. “You got me walking when I was resigned to a damn wheelchair.” 

“You were tough. Determined.”

“I was depressed and frustrated,” Sam corrected with a wry smile. “And I cursed your very existence.” 

“I recall.” Castiel smiled faintly then. “You had quite the vocabulary.” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that. It took me a while to really appreciate everything you did.” 

Castiel shook his head. “It’s alright. Rehab takes a lot of emotional effort as well as physical.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed grimly. “I know the situation sucks right now, but I do appreciate the chance to say thank you properly.” 

“I think being willing to help save my life right now covers that nicely.” 

Sam gave a crooked smile. “I’m going to fry up a breakfast. Want some?” 

“Sounds good.” 

 

Castiel waited, the silence of the huge property, so far from civilisation, completely unnerving for the city boy. He begged Sam for something to do, and Sam eventually pointed him toward the kitchen garden, so he busied himself pulling weeds and watering. 

The second day passed much the same, and as darkness fell, Castiel felt edgy. Where was Dean? He said two days. Sam noticed his concern. 

“He will be here, if he said he would be here.” 

It was some time around midnight when the sound of an engine cut through the quiet. 

Castiel leapt out of bed, sick of staring at the ceiling and met Sam on the landing, eyes bleary, hair a tangled mess. “Is that..?” 

“The Impala. Yeah.” 

They padded swiftly downstairs, and watched the headlights approach. 

Sam frowned when he saw them lurch sharply to the left, then to the right, and the Impala briefly revved before dragging to a stop at a crazy angle. The engine didn’t shut off. Sam ran for the car. 

“Dean!” 

Castiel followed a little slower, cautious. 

He watched Sam wrench open the door and crouch down. 

Dean was collapsed forward. Sam pressed his palm to Dean’s chest and pushed him back against his seat. He peered into his brother’s pale face. “Dean?” His voice was small, full of fear. 

“Cas! Help me!” 

Castiel broke into a run then. 

He stared into the car’s interior. Blood smeared the leather seats. Dean’s face was battered. 

“Get him out.” Castiel gripped Sam’s shoulder. “Get him out. Get him into the house and bring me your first aid kit. I think he has been shot.” 

Sam didn’t move, frozen with shock. 

“Sam!” Castiel’s voice deepened and roughened. “Get Dean out of the car now.”

Sam shook himself and carefully, he levered Dean’s unconscious form out of the car and cradling him, he moved cautiously for the house while Castiel grimaced as he saw the amount of blood Dean had left behind in the Impala. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was still dark when Dean awoke. Castiel sat beside his bed, dozing. He awoke immediately when he heard Dean groan. 

“Hey.” Castiel stood up immediately, leaning over him. 

Wildly staring green eyes met his, and a hand curled weakly into his shirt. There was no light of recognition for a moment. 

“It’s me, Dean. Castiel,” he said in cool, soothing tones. “You were hurt. I have patched you up. You must be in pain.” 

“Cas…” Dean murmured between clenched teeth. 

“I know.” Castiel smoothed his hand over Dean’s brow. “I’m going to give you some painkillers. Want you to take them and sleep more.” The pills in their orange bottle rattled as he picked them up. Left over from Sam’s recovery time, Castiel had set them ready beside the bed, along with a plastic cup of water. 

Carefully, he ran his arm under Dean’s shoulders and helped him up enough to swallow the tablets with a mouthful of water. Dean was pale and sweating by the time Castiel lowered him down. He couldn’t prevent the agonised moan that threaded from his lips. 

Castiel dragged his chair closer with one foot. He sat down. “I will be right here. Sleep, Dean. I will look over you.” 

Dean reached out, fumbling for his hand. Castiel closed his fingers around Dean’s and brushed his thumb over the calloused knuckles. Dean’s eyes drifted shut, his mouth going slack. 

Castiel sat watching him for a long time. 

 

Castiel startled when a hand closed over his shoulder. He was facedown over his folded arms. 

“How is he?” Sam’s voice was quiet.

“Zonked. Those pills will keep him quiet for a while longer.” 

“Want some coffee?” 

“More than my next breath.”

Sam held out a mug. “Come on. He will be fine. Come on out to the kitchen.” 

Castiel rose slowly, stiffly to his feet and stretched. “Yeah. Sure.” 

 

He stared at the kitchen table. 

“You cleaned up all the blood.” 

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Not something I would care to repeat. I’m glad you were here.” 

Castiel leaned back against a kitchen bench, unwilling to subject his still mostly numb ass to a solid wooden chair. “I still want to get him to a doctor.” 

“If it looks like he is going to get worse, yeah. Maybe. But they have to report gunshot wounds to the cops. Not sure how he feels about that.” Sam shrugged. 

“Well, if he keeps taking those anti-inflammatories, the painkillers and the antibiotics, maybe…” Castiel grimaced. “Maybe it will be alright.” 

“Go get some rack time, Cas. I can take over looking out for him. It looks like that coffee isn’t even gonna make a dent in you.” 

“It’s not.” Castiel sighed, then nodded. “Wake me if there is a problem?” 

Sam nodded. 

Castiel set the cup on the sink and headed for the door. 

“Hey, Cas? How did you know what to do with the gunshot wound?” 

Castiel just smiled faintly. “Perhaps another time, Sam.” 

 

It was mid afternoon by the time Castiel woke again and climbed out of bed. He headed down stairs to the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes. 

“Hey Cas.” Sam greeted him from the kitchen table, reading some mail. 

“Sam.” Castiel glanced back to the hallway off the kitchen. “How is he?” 

“He was awake for a bit earlier. I convinced him that getting out of bad is a terrible idea.” 

Castiel shrugged. “He might be tough, but even he will have to heal. He was lucky the bullet didn’t enter the stomach cavity. I might not have been able to do a damn thing to help.” He wasn’t in the best of moods. The past three days had sucked. He had gone past fear and was right into fully pissed off. Pissed off at this …Alastair, pissed off at the police and pissed off at Dean. How DARE they have screwed up his nice, normal, safe life! He had worked hard for that! “I’m going to go check on him, then I’m going to just go for a walk. I need some fresh air.” 

Sam just nodded, and watched him stomp down the hall toward Dean’s room. He couldn’t help grinning. 

 

Castiel whipped back the covers over Dean to check the dressing. 

“Hey!” Came the protesting growl, and hands fumbled for the blankets. “I’m naked here.” 

“I know,” Castiel snapped. “Sam and I undressed you.” 

Blue eyes clashed with green. Neither dropped their gaze first. Dean’s hand didn’t relax. 

“Look.” Castiel said impatiently. “I’m not interested in your dick. I’m interested in seeing whether or not the stitches and glue I used are holding. The sooner you get better, the sooner I can get back to my life.” 

Dean scowled, but let go of the blankets. Castiel peeled back the edge of the dressing. It had been a clean through and through, though the muscles of his abdominal wall had been pretty well damaged. The flesh was bruised and angry. A little clear fluid weeping. But it was still clean. He smoothed back the dressing. 

“Looks good.” Castiel murmured. “How’s the pain?” 

Dean’s jaw was clenched, his face a little pale. “Bearable.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” Castiel scoffed. He uncapped the bottle, and handed Dean the tablet with the water. “Don’t be an ass and take it.” 

“It makes me…fuzzy.” Dean gestured vaguely with a hand. 

“And the pain will slow your healing.” Castiel was unmoving. 

Dean muttered something unintelligible and tried to rise up on an elbow. He went grey as pain spiked and he collapsed back, frustrating clouding his expression. 

Castiel gentled his voice. “It’s alright. Let me help. It’s going to hurt for a while, I’m afraid.” Once again, he helped him raise up to drink. Castiel noted that Dean’s hand shook as he held the cup. 

He tucked the blankets back around Dean, whose eyes had now closed, lashes fanning against his cheeks. A curious vulnerability was caste about his features; a certain boyishness missing when he was awake. The bruising from whatever beating he had taken was dark.

Castiel wondered at who he must have been, before he had taken upon himself such a deadly occupation. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice startled him, barely above a whisper and strained. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“I couldn’t help. ‘m sorry.”

“Couldn’t help with what?” 

Dean’s voice slurred. “..was angry I didn’ kill you.”

Castiel rested his hand on Dean’s arm. “It’s alright. We will figure something out.” 

“Tell … Cas…” 

Castiel leaned forward a little. “Tell me what?” 

“Tell Cas … I will…protect him…” Dean’s head tilted to the side as slumber caught him again. 

Castiel sighed. “Yes. My hero.” He patted Dean on the arm. 

 

“How is he?” Sam asked, glancing up. 

“Asleep,” Castiel said bluntly. “It goes without saying that his meeting with Heyerdahl went poorly. God only knows how he got out of there alive.” 

Sam swept his fingers through his hair and stared at the scarred table surface. 

“How long can you go on the run, Cas?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said honestly, and not without a small amount of moroseness. “Not long, I would wager. Dean’s obligation was to get me out of the immediate situation. He has done that. And from a certain point of view, I was somewhat responsible for getting him shot.” 

“He won’t look at it like that,” Sam protested. 

Castiel smiled faintly. “Perhaps not.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going for a walk. Down by the lake.” 

Sam flashed a brief smile. “I will listen out for him.”

 

It was on dusk before he returned, striding through the fields, feeling a little more at peace. That ended as he mounted the bottom steps. At first the thought it Sam that stood on the verandah in the deep shadows. 

“Where have you been?” The voice was hard. 

Castiel hesitated. One hand on the railing. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

“I woke up,” came the irritable reply. “Now where the hell were you?” 

“Down by the lake. I needed some…space. From all of this.” 

Dean clutched at the post on the verandah, his features drawn. “You shouldn’t leave the house. Away from Sam… or I. It’s not safe.” 

“Oh yes?” Castiel raised his brows. “What were you going to do should I be in trouble?” He continued up the stairs. “Bleed on them?” 

Dean’s mouth dropped open in surprise. 

Castiel sighed in annoyance. Dean wore sweatpants that must belong to his sibling, slung low on his hips. He hadn’t even had the presence of mind to put on a shirt. 

“You have risked my handiwork. I shall be most displeased if you have pulled the stitches with your exertions.” 

“Are you honestly…lecturing me?” Dean’s eyes were narrowed. 

“Yes, you foolish man.” Castiel crossed his arms. “Can you actually walk without excruciating pain?” 

“Yes.” Dean’s chin came up. 

Castiel wordlessly gestured for the open front door. He watched Dean take in a breath, then take a slow step for the door. He went grey. Castiel moved to his side and carefully arranged his arm over Dean’s back, supporting the majority of his body weight with a practiced move. “You are an idiot, Winchester. Does Sam even know you are out here? What if you had fallen?” 

“I wasn’t going to fall,” Dean said between gritted teeth. 

“You got shot, Dean.”

“I noticed.” 

Their progress back to the bedroom was slow. Castiel could feel the play of Dean’s muscle under skin, his warmth, his occasional gasps of breath that meant this hurt more than he was willing to admit. He steadied a sudden lurch with a splay of his hand against Dean’s tense abdomen. Tense and strong. Suddenly he was the one finding it hard to breath. 

He spent most of his days with men and women who had some of the finest bodies he had ever seen, and not one had ever had him blushing like a damn schoolboy with his first crush like Dean Winchester. 

But he clamped down on that shit. He helped Dean down into his bed. For a while, Dean just lay there, eyes shut, steadying his breath. Castiel straightened and turned to head out. 

“I got worried. When you weren’t…here.” 

The quiet statement startled Castiel. “What?” He turned to meet Dean’s sharp gaze. 

Dean’s expression was unreadable. “Don’t leave the house without Sam or I again.” 

Castiel’s hand tightened on the doorframe. “Frankly, ‘Huntsman’, you can go to hell. I didn’t ask to be here. I don’t want to be here.”

“Maybe I should have left you in your apartment then?” Dean’s sarcasm was paint stripping. 

“I could have gone to the cops.” 

“Your cops were there, sitting outside in their unmarked car. I walked straight past them.” 

Castiel pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. “Maybe all this is hopeless. If this Alastair really wants me dead, maybe there isn’t much I can do.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean said gruffly. “As soon as I can get out of this damn bed, I am going to deal with Alastair.” 

Castiel stilled. “What do you mean ‘deal’?” 

“What do you think I mean?” 

Castiel clenched his hands. “Kill him?” 

“Bit late to get touchy about it, isn’t it? What other way do you think you have around this?” 

“Conviction. The cops have my evidence. Surely …arrest…” 

“They are gathering a case. Your evidence is one part of a whole parcel. It could take weeks, months. And you have to keep running. I could take care of the issue in one night.” 

Castiel moved back to the bed in two swift steps. “Don’t. Please…don’t.” 

Dean levered himself upright with considerable effort. “But it’s what I can do…to fix it.” 

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “I can’t have anyone else die because of me.” 

There was silence for a long moment. 

“What do you mean by ‘anyone else’?” Dean asked quietly. 

Castiel took a step back. “Don’t worry about it. Rest. I will see Sam about organising dinner. You should probably eat something.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.” He leaned back on his pillow and watched Castiel leave. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy vey. When I say slow burn...I really mean slow burn.   
> These guys really don't seem to like each other right now. 
> 
> But I'm getting there, I promise. 
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying this one :)

“Hey, have you seen Sam?” 

Castiel was reading a paperback in the sunshiney kitchen, a cooling cup of tea in front of him. He glanced at Dean, hovering in the doorway.

“He said he was out checking the fences. Apparently your neighbours are away, and they are agisting their cattle on the back pasture.” Castiel paused. “Or something.” 

Dean’s lips quirked. “You were almost convincing for a moment there.” 

“Yes. Well.” Castiel closed the book. “Can I assist with something?” 

“It’s alright. Just wanted a towel. I need a shower.” 

“I know where they are.” Castiel rose. “I will remove the dressing. Don’t wash the wound with soap or anything else.” 

Dean looked at him curiously. “I know, Cas. I have been shot before.” 

Castiel headed down the hallway to the linen closet. He opened it and pulled out a soft, dark grey towel. 

“You would think once would be enough.” He turned to give Dean the towel and was startled when he realised how close Dean was standing. 

“You are much … snarkier … than I would have expected,” Dean was studying his face with an enigmatic expression.

“And what did you expect?” Castiel stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated into backing up first. 

“I don’t know …” Dean frowned. “You are just different.” 

“Well, from a guy who is a killer for hire, that means absolutely …nothing.” Castiel shoved the towel at Dean. “You can get your own damn dressing off.” He took a step away. 

“Wait…” Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel’s arm. 

“Get your hands off me.” Castiel snarled, and yanked his arm back. 

Dean jerked back, held both his hands up. “Sorry. Look, I get it. You are pissed at me. I would be too. But I had to get you out of there. I didn’t want to see you dead. And if I came out of that apartment without …y’know…” 

“Shooting me in the head?” Castiel finished bluntly. 

Dean winced, but continued. “Alastair would have sent someone else.”

“Why the hell should you care? Our only connection is freaking remote at best. I did physical therapy on your brother a couple of years ago. So what? So could a lot of other PTs.”

“Look, I don’t know.” Dean dragged his hand through his hair. “I just couldn’t. It was just a job, then I saw you. And …” 

“Your job sucks. Really … really sucks.” Castiel leaned forward. “And the sooner I get out of your little circle of influence, and away from you, the better.” 

He turned and stalked away, leaving Dean clutching the towel and staring down at his hands. 

 

It was twenty minutes or so later when Dean reappeared in the kitchen. Castiel was staring out of the window, a cooled cup of tea in hand. 

“I know you hate me, Cas, but I kind of need your help with this dressing.” 

Castiel dipped his chin and sighed. “I don’t hate you, Dean.” He pushed back from the table, and briefly hesitated. Dean wore jeans slung low on his hips, no shirt, and the stitches were a raw reminder on his right side. His hair was mussed and damp. He cursed his traitorous heart that just went *thud*. “Take a seat on the table.” 

Dean put down the first aid kit he had carried from the bedroom and sat, as bid on the kitchen table. Castiel washed his hands. Making a concerted effort, he refused to look at Dean’s face, and focused purely on the wound. 

“How is the pain?” he asked matter-of-factly, as though they hadn’t snarled at each other only half an hour before. 

Dean’s shoulder shrugged. “Can deal. Don’t want any more of Sammy’s bombs. Need a clear head.”

“Don’t overdo it then.” 

Castiel’s fingers were gentle as he re-taped the dressing in place. He ignored the wash of goosebumps that trailed over Dean’s skin at the brush of his knuckles. He studied the bruising up Dean’s side, and swiped a thumb over the injuries. 

“They worked you over good, huh?” Castiel asked quietly. 

“They weren’t happy. No.” 

“How the hell did you get away?” Castiel met Dean’s steady gaze then. 

“I’m good at what I do. I got shot in the back on the way out.” 

“You should have gotten yourself to a hospital rather than drive here like an idiot.” 

Dean scowled. “I’m not an idiot.” 

Castiel’s lips curved despite himself. “Yeah. You are. You are just lucky it wasn’t too bad, just a through and through, and I knew what to do.” 

“Yeah.” Dean paused thoughtfully. “So, how did you know?” 

Castiel dropped his gaze down to where he still touched the warm skin of Dean’s back. He yanked his hands back.  

“Boring story.” He tried to bring some lightness to his voice. “All fixed.” He stepped back. 

“Cas.” Dean said softly. 

Castiel busied himself repacking the first aid kit. Dean’s hand entered his field of vision and touched the back of his hand lightly. Castiel stopped and looked up. 

“It’s a part of my life I don’t like to think about. I’m a physical therapist. I help people. That’s what I do now.” 

“But you didn’t before?” 

Castiel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I would take it as a personal favour if you stopped asking questions. It is not relevant to the current situation.” 

Dean leaned his elbows on his thighs and studied Castiel thoughtfully. “Sure. If that’s what you want.” 

“I do.” Castiel slammed the lid of the first aid kit down. 

“I get wanting to leave a past behind.” 

Castiel clenched his hands and the lid of the first aid kit creaked. 

Dean continued.“I get it.” He clasped his hands before him. “I get wanting to do it. And I get not being able to.” 

“Well that is where you and I are different.” Castiel snapped. “You are a stone cold killer.” 

Dean flowed off the counter, and was on Castiel in a single stride. His hand fisted in his shirt and yanked him forward. Castiel’s hands came up, one folding over Dean’s, the thumb about to put pressure on the back of Dean’s hand. His other hand came up to Dean’s elbow, two fingers curved over the joint. 

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew that move. He knew it real well. 

“Hey! HEY!” Sam’s voice interrupted them, and a pair of meaty hands came between them, shoving them apart. “What the HELL?” 

Dean let go, his hands raising. 

Castiel lowered his and turned away. He strode for the front door, and ignored the calls to return. He sat down on the front steps, head in his hands. He could hear Sam snarling at his brother through the open kitchen window. “What the hell is going on, Dean? What? You were going to punch him?” 

“Shut up, Sammy. You got no idea.” 

“Then enlighten me!”

“He… he….” Castiel could imagine Dean gesturing in frustration. “He isn’t who he says he is alright?”

“He isn’t a PT? I beg to differ. My legs beg to differ.” 

“No. Listen to me, Sammy. He’s just…he can do…” Dean growled. “He knows bullet wounds. He knows self defence.” 

“You basically walked into his apartment and kidnapped him.” Sam scoffed. “That doesn’t sounds like someone with a military background.” 

“I got him when he was tired. And maybe it’s been a while. But there is something there. Something…” 

“Leave it alone, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “Leave it. Maybe he made the choice to get out of wherever he was. Maybe he left it behind.” 

Castiel couldn’t listen anymore. Two days in a row he had screwed up. Two days in a row. He couldn’t do a third. He stood up and starting walking. He had to walk. 

 

The brothers were sitting at the kitchen table when he got back. He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched both of them warily. 

Sam glanced at his brother and slowly got to his feet. 

“Hey Cas,” he began. “Look. Things got heated earlier. I can’t even guess the stress you are under right now. But you are safe here. Dean doesn’t want to hurt you. We just want to keep you safe. And figure out what’s going to happen next. That’s what we want to do right now. I don’t care who you were back whenever the fuck. We just want a plan for what comes next.” 

“I don’t want Dean going after Heyerdahl,” Castiel said. 

“Alright.” Sam held up his hand as Dean made a noise. “What then? What do you suggest?” 

Castiel took a seat next to Dean and folded his hands on the table. He stared at them for a long time. “I want to make it so he has no reason to come after me. I want to make it that I’m …irrelevant.” 

The brothers glanced at each other again. 

It was Dean who spoke this time. “Not sure what you are saying here, Cas.” 

Castiel chewed on his lower lip. “I need to go back. Back to Seattle.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “No, it’s not safe.” 

“Don’t you want your life back too, Dean?” Castiel kept his voice flat. “Don’t you want to stop babysitting?” 

“Yeah, eventually. But it won’t be because I threw you to that rabid dog.” 

“I just need you to get me back to Seattle, Dean.” Castiel met those worried green eyes, and wondered briefly at the emotion. “Let me take care of the rest.” 

“Take care of what?” Dean asked, frustration colouring his tone. 

“It’s been fifteen years.” Castiel shoved his hands into his hair, rumbling the thick waves. “But I have some people I can still call on for help.” 

“Fifteen years since what?” Dean asked sharply. 

Castiel closed his eyes. 

“No judgement, Cas. We don’t care.” Sam said gently. “And if you don’t want to say, its okay. Either way, we are coming with you.”

“No, Sammy, you need to stay here.” 

“Forget it.” Sam shook his head. “I’m coming with you.” 

Castiel stood suddenly. “You two can argue this out. I’m packing and tomorrow morning I’m leaving with or without you.”

He left the two brothers staring at each other, their argument interrupted.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning - mention of violence. No detail though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long. Thank you for sticking with me. I have had a bad few days at work. 
> 
> Sometimes being a teacher can be heartbreakingly suckworthy. 
> 
> I hope my writing isn't suckworthy along with it.

The ride into Seattle was all but silent. Castiel sat in the back seat, staring out of the window, unwilling or unable to engage in conversation with either of the two men in the front seat. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him a few times, but he refused to acknowledge. As soon as he could, he was going to leave the Winchester’s. This mess was his own to clean up. 

As they reached the outskirts of Seattle, he leaned forward. 

“May I borrow your phone please, Sam?” 

“Yeah. Sure.” Sam handed back the device. 

Castiel called a number he knew by heart. He listened to the dial tone, then the voice on the other end. He hesitated. They repeated. 

“Hannah? It’s Castiel.” 

“Castiel?” Hannah’s voice was warm with delight. He flinched. He didn’t deserve that. “Is it really you?”

“Yes.” 

“How are you?”

“I’m in trouble. I need your help.” 

Hannah’s tone immediately shifted. “Of course. You know the address.” 

“Yes.” 

“See you soon.” 

He deleted the number and record of the call from Sam’s phone, and handed it back. 

“Head to Queen Anne. I will direct from there,” Castiel said simply.

“You gonna fill us in on any of this, Cas?” Dean asked gruffly.

“No.” He could feel the glare in the rearview mirror and ignored it. 

 

“Just pull over here.” Castiel gestured at the side of the street. 

“Cas, we can’t just leave you here,” Sam protested. 

“I have help waiting. You have done more than enough, Sam. Dean… it’s been … interesting.” He gathered his bag as Dean swung the car into a parking space. 

“No.” This time the emphatic reply was from Dean. He turned in his seat to study Castiel. “Cas. Come on. I gotta lot of regrets in my life, don’t make letting you get out of this car without us be one of them.” 

Castiel couldn’t miss the odd look Sam was giving his brother. 

“Walk away, Dean. I appreciate the fact that you didn’t kill me, as strange as that sounds, but I forgive you for trying. Really. And Sam, I’m glad you are doing so well. Good bye. I hope you understand when I say I really hope we don’t see each other again.” 

Castiel opened the back door, slung his bag over his shoulder and headed off down the street with only a single backwards glance. 

 

A tall, slender brunette came barrelling down the stairs and virtually leapt into his arms. 

“Castiel!” she shrieked, drawing glances. 

Hesitantly, he folded his arms around her. She stepped back and clasped his face in her palms, studying him seriously. “Oh, you look so tired, honey. Come on. Come into my office. Let’s talk.” 

Castiel willingly followed and sat down in the comfortable couch in Hannah’s office. “Thank you for seeing me.” 

“Of course.” Hannah sat down beside him. “What’s going on?” 

“I was targeted by Alastair Heyerdahl. I saw him killing one of my clients. Now he wants me off the witness list that the cops are no doubt compiling.” 

“I know that name.” Hannah reached for a tablet beside the couch and typed for a moment. She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip as she read the information on the screen. “Ah yes, I have seen his work before.”

She looked up at Castiel. “What do you need?” 

“A reason for him to stop hunting for me.” 

“You want to disappear?” Hannah leaned forward.

“No. Not exactly.” Castiel tugged on the messy strands of his hair. “I want to run him. Like I used to.” 

Hannah stilled. “Are you sure? It’s been a long time.” 

“I’m sure, but only if you are good with me coming back on board. Just for this.” 

“God, Cas. Of course it’s alright. I owe you one. More than one.” 

“No,” Castiel said fiercely. “No you don’t.” 

A knock on her door interrupted whatever Hannah would have replied. 

“Yes?” 

“Ms Carroll. I’m sorry, there is a disturbance out the front. Two men. A Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Castiel groaned. “Hell.” 

“You know these men, Castiel?” Hannah asked, annoyed at the disruption. 

“Yes. Unfortunately I do, and I can only apologise.” Castiel stood up. “I will try to get rid of them.” 

 

“You followed me,” Castiel said as the two men were shown into Hannah’s office. 

“Yeah, well. You weren’t much with being forthcoming.” Dean stared around him. 

Hannah was watching the two men from behind her desk. She stood then. “I’m going to leave you to deal with this, Castiel. When you are ready to start your mission, have Inias page me.” 

Castiel nodded. 

When they were left alone, Dean turned to Castiel. “What the hell is going on, man? What is this place?”

“I was an Angel. This is their Seattle office.” 

There was silence in the room. 

“A what now?” Sam was clearly confused.

“Hang on, Sam.” Dean’s tone was suddenly gruff. “You were an Angel? What the hell? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Castiel couldn’t look up. “It was a long time ago and I didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Who, or what, are the Angels?” Sam was still lost.

“Bodyguards, troubleshooters, private investigators. Some of the best in the business. To put it in your words, Sammy, they are like…Jedi-for-hire.” 

“Isn’t that a little antithetical?” 

“I was trying to be metaphorical.” Dean leaned over toward Castiel. “Why aren’t you with them anymore?” 

“I guess you could say I fell.” Castiel’s hands white knuckled. “But Hannah is an old friend, and she is willing to help me. She is in charge here.” 

“So these Angels are going to help you?”Sam queried. 

“No.” Castiel clenched his hands in his lap. “I am. I’m just going to use their resources.” 

“I don’t get it.” Sam looked helplessly between Dean and Castiel. “What are you going to do?” 

“He’s going to go after Alastair.” Dean scowled. “Before Alastair comes after him.” 

“Now you know. I have the resources and the capability.” Castiel waved at the door. “Satisfied? You can go about your lives now.” 

“No.” Dean shook his head emphatically.

“Yeah. I have to go with Dean on this one. No.” Sam folded his arms across his chest. 

Castiel made an inarticulate sound of frustration. “Why? You don’t have any obligation here! You don’t need to be anywhere near me.” 

“No. We don’t have to.” Sam shrugged. “We are choosing to.” 

“You will only get in my way.” Castiel rose to his feet and paced. 

Sam laughed then. “I was in the Army and Dean here…well, you know his skills. We can help. We can be useful. C’mon, Cas.” 

“Sam? Give me a moment with Cas. Just in private, okay?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam hesitated then nodded. 

 

When they were alone, Dean watched Castiel stand before the window overlooking the city. 

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“I figure you have some questions now.” 

“So.” Dean joined him. “The Angels, huh?” 

“Yeah.” Castiel nodded. 

“No wonder you don’t think much of me.” 

Castiel’s jaw clenched. “Don’t…” 

“No. Really. You guys save lives. I take ‘em.” Dean tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah, well. It doesn’t always work out. Sometimes lives aren’t…saved.” 

“Is that why you aren’t one of them anymore? Were you…uhhh…” Dean frowned. “Do Angels get fired?” 

“I quit.” 

“You…quit? You just walked away?” 

“It happens.” Castiel was getting irritated. “How do you even know about us? …Them.” 

“Word gets around. I have only missed two targets since I started this life. Both of them were protected by Angels.” 

“Great.” Castiel muttered.

“Who did you lose?” 

“Who did _you_ lose?” Castiel snapped.

Dean flinched at the question. 

“You answer and I will,” Castiel said, carelessly, confident.

Dean ran his thumb over his clean-shaven jaw. “My team. I was the sniper. My spotter and I watched all of them get taken and beheaded. I had the guys that did it in my crosshairs but couldn’t do a damn thing. I couldn’t…stop them.” He faltered. His hands were bunched in his pockets. 

Dean was startled by the touch on his arm. He stared at the hand on his bicep.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Really. I should not have pried.” 

“Don’t spread it around.” 

“So you came back and left the Army?” 

Dean nodded slowly. “I tried to adjust to life back here. But I just couldn’t. I had a guy, but he couldn’t deal with me. Hell, I could hardly deal with me. Then I got a job offer I couldn’t refuse with a private security company.” 

“And now you are…what? Self employed?” Castiel asked wryly. 

“Something like that.” Dean tipped his head back and stared at the pleasantly eggshell white ceiling. “I’m tired of it, Cas. Beyond tired. I got so many bad marks on my soul that it’s never getting clean.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I was a foster kid. All my life. No idea who my folks were. I thought I wanted to be a cop. Went through training. Had six months on the job before I got frustrated at the whole system. The whole damn corrupt, vile system.” 

He turned his back to the window and leaned back against the sill. 

“I joined the Angels. Just a piece of luck I had. A friend introduced me. There is good work that happens here. Bodyguards, systems testing, private investigations. I did all of it. I was good at it.” 

Dean listened in silence. 

“I was put on an investigation involving corrupt cops in the precinct I had worked in. I asked for the case, knowing some of the players.” Castiel sighed. “It went bad. Too many people died, including two of my fellow Angels.”

“Was it your fault?” Dean asked flatly. 

“Yes. I should have conducted my investigation more thoroughly. I should have …” Castiel dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. 

In shock he felt a light touch to his chin. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Dean’s expression was enigmatic. 

“You carry the weight of your decisions, and they are fucking heavy, huh?” He said gently. 

“Yes.” Castiel pressed his hand to his chest over his heart, and rubbed there. “It aches every day. When I think I am past it, and it turns out that I am not, and it slams into me at an unexpected moment.” Despite himself, cursing himself, tears welled in his eyes, and he dashed them away with an impatient hand. 

The solid hand on his shoulder was a surprise. That he dropped his chin to his chest and took comfort from it, from the man who was sent to end his life, as a surprise further still. 

“You are a good man, Cas.” Dean was oddly intent. “You don’t deserve any of this.” 

Castiel was quiet for a moment. “Alright.”

“Sorry?” 

“Alright you can help. If you want. If you change your mind, no harm, no foul. But no killing. No more death.” 

“Good.” Dean clapped his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I gotta say, Cas, you are just full of surprises.” 

“What? Because you thought I was a soft civilian working in a nine to five job?” 

“Pretty much.” 

Castiel smiled wryly. “Well, that’s mostly true.” 

“Alright. So you tell me, what’s the next step.”

“We get put up in a safe house, and I start to prep my surveillance.” 

“What do you want me to do? Me and Sammy?” 

Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face. “I guess you have gone from being my assassin to being my bodyguard.” 

“Done.” Dean held out his hand toward Castiel. “They are gonna have to go through me to get to you. Me and Sammy. And he’s a big guy.” 

Castiel returned the handshake and said solemnly. “Then let’s get to work.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Six

Castiel set the devices he would need into their cases. Surveillance and recording, security. He closed the lids, and locked them. He signed the form that had the inventory he was taking.

“Good to go?” Hannah asked him, accepting the document. 

He nodded silently, staring moodily at the shining, expensive cases. “Never thought I would be back here again.” 

Hannah studied him with a glum expression. “I’m sorry too. I wish you would change your mind and come back, but I understand your reasoning.” She hesitated. “Are you certain you wish the Winchester’s to stay with you in the safe house? The elder brother is hardly cleared. And the younger has …well…” She flushed a little. “Well, he isn’t as able.” 

“Oh. Sam is quite capable,” Castiel said flatly. “And my defence skills are somewhat rusty. Keeping in mind Alastair’s resources, I’m going to need back up.” 

“Then take a couple of Angel’s with you,” Hannah insisted again. 

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “No, I have everything I need. And I appreciate you trusting me with this.” He checked the time. “I need to go.” He leaned in, kissed Hannah on the temple.

“Take care of yourself,” Hannah said, touching Castiel gently on the cheek, studying him seriously. “And speak to me more than once in three years.” 

Castiel flashed her a brief smile, and hefting the two cases, one in each hand, he headed for the door. He briefly hesitated when he saw Dean standing there, lounging against the doorframe, watching them both with an enigmatic expression on his face. 

But he had work to do. 

“I will meet you at the car. I just have to pick up one more case of equipment. Hannah has the address of the safe house.” He nodded back at her.

“Sure,” Dean said easily, straightening from his slouch. He watched Castiel head off down the hallway, then turned back to Hannah. She was seated at her desk, going through papers. He warily approached. 

“Cas said you have an address for me?” 

Hannah pulled a piece of paper toward her, scribbled the information in a slashing hand. She held it out. He reached out, but she didn’t release the paper to him straight away. He met her direct gaze. 

“You try to hurt him again, I will end you,” Hannah said softly. 

 

Dean swallowed against the sudden nervous lump in his throat. The woman looked, and dressed, like someone’s favourite aunt. And she intimidated the hell out of him. Her eyes were like ice. Not an ounce of warmth. At least not for him. Which, to be fair, was understandable. From the kiss and the touches, it would seem Cas and this woman had been close. 

He didn’t want to admit that bothered him. 

He wasn’t jealous.

It just…bothered him. 

“He doesn’t have anything to fear from me,” Dean said.

She let go of the paper. 

He tucked it into his pocket without looking at it. 

“Castiel is very dear to me.” Her voice could etch glass. “I know who you are, ‘Huntsman’. You have no allegiance to anyone but your bank balance.” 

Dean scowled. “That’s not true.” 

Hannah stood up. “You were going to kill him.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“If you hadn’t known he was your brother’s physical therapist, would you have? Without knowing anything about him?” 

Dean hesitated, his gaze shifting aside.

Hannah’s lip curled in a sneer. “That’s what I thought. You are scum, Dean Winchester.” 

“I know,” Dean said quietly, his hands tucked into the depths of his pockets. 

Hannah seemed taken aback by the admission. Her mouth opened in surprise. 

Dean continued. “Believe me, I know. You have no reason to trust me with … well, whoever Cas is to you. But my word is good.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Cas was meant to be my last mission.” 

“He’s not a mission,” Hannah hissed between clenched teeth. “He’s my little brother.” 

It was Dean’s turn to be surprised. “Brother?” 

“He didn’t tell you?” 

“He didn’t tell me a lot of things.” Dean shrugged. “He said he grew up in the foster system.”

Hannah nodded, and she dropped her gaze to her hands. “He did. As did I. But he had a harder time of it. He found a place here eventually, and then a place for me soon after he got here.And he loved his work. He protected so many people from very bad people like you.” She glared at him fiercely. 

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “I knew of you guys.” 

“And believe me, we know of you.” She leaned back on her desk. “I wanted Angels looking after Castiel, but he refused. He said you and your brother - both wounded soldiers - were all he needed. Don’t fail his trust, Mister Winchester.” 

Dean took a slow breath. “I won’t.” 

“I hope I won’t see you again.” 

 

They drove in silence to the safe house, not far from the offices. They had been given an electric garage door opener and Dean hit it, driving into the immaculate space. A light switched on overhead and he turned off the engine. They sat in silence for a brief moment. 

Dean glanced at Castiel’s tense features in the rear view mirror. Their eyes met for a moment, before Castiel’s gaze slid aside. 

The house was newly renovated, everything pristine whites, greys and chromes. The kitchen was state of the art and the four bedrooms were furnished with sleek beds. Dean stared around him in wonder. Serious money went in to this place. He certainly couldn’t miss the decent security system Castiel had deactivated on entry. 

Sam had headed down the hallway, and, as Castiel suggested, took the master suite. It had it’s own bathroom and the shower was a wet space. It would be easier for his brother to manage. Dean took the bedroom that connected, via a shared bathroom, to Castiel’s. The fourth bedroom was set up with a couple of single beds more suited to children than a six foot grown man. 

He dumped his bag on the end of the bed. Unpacking could occur a little later. And he wanted to get some of his own gear from the Impala. He headed back into the main living room. 

Castiel was seated in front of an expensive looking laptop, typing rapidly, his gaze scanning the screen. His face was bathed in blue light, giving him an ethereal hue. He glanced up at Dean’s entry.

“Everything good?” Dean asked. 

Castiel nodded briefly. “It will be.” 

“What’s the plan?” 

“Where is Sam?” 

“Just dumping his gear into his room.”

“Give me fifteen minutes here, then I will update you with my plan.” 

“Sure. I’m going to grab some gear from the back of the car.” 

Castiel nodded.

 

“And with you covering my entry, I will put the equipment in these locations.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Sam asked, leaning close to the computer screen and the glowing map. 

“You are Dean’s spotter.” Castiel pointed at the screen. “If you set up here, you should have decent coverage of Alistair’s home.” 

“What if he is home?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair, uncertainty etching his features. 

Castiel glanced up, his eyes bright in the reflected screen. “This is why I have case number two.” 

Sam and Dean shared a glance.

“Uhh. What does case number two do, Cas?” Dean asked. 

“It’s going to create a diversion in the building he uses to move drugs into and out of Seattle.”

Sam gave a low whistle. “I’m a little scared to ask what kind of diversion.” 

“Nothing permanent. Just the impression that it’s being broken into.” 

“Won’t he have guards? With guns?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You will have to get close enough to put whatever electronic fanciness into place won’t you?”

Castiel remained expressionless. “Yes.” 

Dean rubbed his forehead. “This sounds like a terrible plan.” 

Castiel stood abruptly. “At least it doesn’t involve anyone getting dead.” He glared at Dean, then stepped over to the case in question. “And you are coming with me.” 

“What?”

Castiel sighed. “As an ex-Army Ranger you have significant silent combat skills, better than my own. I am very good at being silent, however, I cannot guarantee that I would remain completely safe.”

Dean had no idea what to say to that.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean slid along the wall, shadowed easily by Castiel bearing a heavy backpack of equipment. Dean’s garb of dark greens and insubstantial greys had him blending with his environment.

The warehouse loomed above them in the darkness. Silent, watchful guards an ever-present threat on the ground and on the roof above. Vast containers were stacked in rusting piles in the large storage yard. It was through these Castiel crept with Dean as his protection.

It was quiet. The guards were tired and lazy at this time of night. And no one was stupid enough to try to break in to a Heyerdahl property. Castiel grimaced. Except them.

Castiel was surprised when Dean pressed his palm against Castiel’s shoulder, pushing him against the container wall. The steel was cold against his back, but Castiel wordlessly complied, the pressure of Dean’s fingers firm. His own fingers brushed against the pistol at his hip. Dean leaned forward and glanced around the corner, his pistol at the ready. Without looking back at Castiel, he flicked his hand and headed around the corner.

Castiel hissed out a silent breath. It had been far too long since he had done this. But Dean was good. Scary good.

He followed the shadowy form cautiously, scanning their surrounds. They were heading for a doorway on the side of the building. Flood lights cast indifferent light over the chainlink surrounded compound, but there were several dark areas where the light just didn’t reach.

The sudden appearance of another guard had Dean grabbing Castiel again and yanking him through a narrow gap between two containers. His large body overshadowed Castiel’s slighter one. Castiel could feel Dean’s chest billowing with breath and looked up into his face while Dean watched the gap. Dean’s hand stayed pressed against his chest.

The faint light washed over Dean’s face, painting the sharp blade of his cheekbones into shadowy relief. As the guard passed, his rifle slung carelessly over his back as he paced and covered his yawn with a hand, Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s and held, a flare of sudden awareness in those olive green depths.

Castiel had no idea what Dean was reading in his gaze for those few seconds, and it made his gut twist in some unwanted emotion. This man tried to kill him, damn it. Castiel pushed away Dean’s protective hand.

Dean blinked and his jaw tensed for a moment.

“Let’s go.” Castiel mouthed the words.

Dean scowled, clearly annoyed.

 

A heart pounding twenty minutes later, Castiel crouched beside Dean on a swaying upper gantry as a guard patrolled below. 

“Everything set?” Dean asked softly.

Castiel nodded, setting the timer on the charges.

 

They were back in the yard when smoke started pouring from the upstairs windows. Shouts were soon followed by alarms. Castiel couldn’t help but grin as he glanced back at his handiwork.

Smoke bombs were a nice way of making a lot of panic without destroying anything. He turned to follow Dean.

The guard came out of nowhere between them. His rifle came up, his mouth opening to shout, before a forearm came around his neck and he was thrown to the ground. A bunched fist slammed into his jaw and he went still. Castiel’s heart slowly returned to normal as he watched Dean stand over the body of the guard who had threatened Castiel.

He gestured sharply at Castiel to follow him. Castiel stepped over the guy. It looked like when Dean hit someone, they stayed hit. As soon as they got in the Impala, Castiel dialled the phone he had given Sam.

“Situation?” he asked as soon as Sam answered.

“ _Quiet_.” Sam’s voice was soft in his ear. “ _No. Wait._ ”

Castiel waited.

“ _The front gates are opening._ ”

“Sam says the gates are opening.”

“ _Three cars just left._ ”

“Let’s go.”

Dean peeled the Impala out of its parked spot without a word.

 

Sam slipped into the back seat as soon as they pulled up. He tossed the binoculars onto the leather.

“Looks like six guards left in the house.”

Castiel tugged his balaclava into place over his hair, tucking the strands in. With a slow, steadying breaths he double-checked the contents of the canvas bag he was taking in with him. 

“I should come in with you,” Dean said flatly

“No.” Castiel didn’t even look at him before he cracked the door of the Impala and put one foot on the bitumen.

“Hey.” Dean reached out and gripped his forearm before he could get out. “You said it yourself. It’s been too long since you did this.”

Castiel turned on Dean, his eyes flashing arcs of lightning that had Dean withdrawing his hand. “Your part in this is done. You got me in so I could lay those charges. That’s it. I made that clear when I first planned this. This bit is on me. You can’t crawl into roof space, you can’t do what I have to do.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than in that bloody warehouse.”

Castiel silently got out of the car. He leaned down, his face in ominous shadow. “Get gone. You know better than this. Better than to wait. Get Sam out of here. Get yourself out of here. I will meet you at the secondary point.” He shoved back from the car and strode along the street, parallel to the house he was going to gain entry into.

 

Sam met his brother’s gaze in the rear view mirror.

“So…” he drawled. “You gonna follow orders?”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean scowled, his hands whiteknuckled on the steering wheel. The Impala was resolutely silent.

“I like him.” Sam nodded emphatically, turning in his seat to watch the retreating figure. He raised his brows. “Huh. He’s fast.”

“He’s a pain in the arse is what he is.”

“Hey, he’s an Angel. What do you expect?” Sam grinned broadly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Sam shifted forward in his seat, resting his chin on his hands on the back of the front bench seat. “You like him.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, and turned around to glare at his brother. “And you have rocks in your skull. That’s what you get for going regular Army.”

Sam was nothing if not persistent, and very used to the way his brother could disseminate. “This whole Huntsman persona of yours is a big dumb shield. You just didn’t want to join the real world. You wanted to keep being a damn soldier.”

“Screw you, Sam,” Dean snarled. “It’s what I know how to do. Kill bad people. I just get paid a lot better for it and can pick my targets.”

Sam leaned forward, his hazel eyes fierce. “Well, you got played. Cas is not bad people. He’s one of the good guys. And you can see it. You can see it and it’s making you question a whole lot of things, isn’t it?”

Dean leaned his head back against the window of his door, staring up at the roof of his beloved car.

Sam didn’t let up. “He doesn’t fit your nice, tidy mould. And you want to be a better person because he is.”

“Jeez, Sammy.” Dean raised his hand and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. “Tell me what you really think.”

“What? You want me to lie to you and tell you I approve your choices over the past couple years?”

“I don’t care what you think.” Dean’s chin stuck out belligerently.

“Sure you do.” Sam’s voice gentled, reaching out one hand to grasp his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah, you do. I love you, Dean. I hate seeing you like this. Cas? He’s good, decent people. You gotta make a choice here, brother. Take this as a big kick in the ass.”

Dean squinted thoughtfully, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Sam patted Dean again. “Come on. Let’s show some trust in the Angel. I bet he can get the job done without you.”

Without a word, Dean started up the Impala.

 

They waited half an hour.

Dean fidgeted impatiently as he sat on the hood of the Impala while Sam dozed in the back seat. Even so, he was surprised by Castiel’s weary appearance through the trees that surrounded the parkland.

“Hey.” Dean slid down. “How did it go?”

“Mission accomplished,” Castiel replied flatly, heading for the passenger side.

Dean swiped his hands down his denim clad thighs. “I owe you an apology.”

Castiel hesitated, as he studied Dean curiously. “I’m sorry?”

Dean’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “That’s what I was going to say.”

Castiel was unmoved.

Dean cleared his throat and stared down at the scuffed toes of his boots. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Castiel crossed his arms over his chest.

“All of it.” Dean gestured vaguely. “For being an asshole mostly.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Dean scowled. “Just like that? Okay?”

Castiel shrugged. “I can get past the bit where you meant to kill me if you can agree not to do it again.”

Dean huffed a soft laugh. “You are incredible, Cas.” He shook his head.

“So are you,” Castiel replied in his matter-of-fact way.

Dean grimaced. “No. I have a very particular skill set.”

“That’s true.” Castiel moved forward to stand in front of Dean, regarding him with an enigmatic expression. “But that isn’t what makes you incredible.”

Dean took an unsteady breath, and he couldn’t meet Castiel’s gaze.

“Your devotion to your family. It’s very plain. You care very much what your brother thinks of you and despite everything, I see you love him.” Castiel’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing. “It is true, I dislike your job. I find it distasteful. But it does not define who you are. I see the weariness in your soul, the growing emptiness, the questions.” He reached out and touched Dean lightly on the jaw. Dean’s eyes met his. “But for some reason you don’t think you are worth saving.”

“Cas…” Dean’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t.” 

Castiel smiled faintly. “I think you are worth very much, Dean Winchester. I find it a great pity you do not feel the same. You couldn’t save your team. Well, you saved me. And you are going to help a great many people that Heyerdahl will hurt if we don’t stop him.”

Dean’s hand fumbled for the front of Castiel’s sweater and held on. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were suspiciously bright.

“I forgive you, Dean.” Castiel murmured softly. “You don’t owe me anything. It doesn’t work like that.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Redemption.”

“Redemption?” A tear trailed down Dean’s cheek. Castiel brushed it aside with his thumb. Then gently, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the damp path.

Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s and his eyes closed.

Exquisitely carefully, Castiel trailed his fingers through into the short strands of Dean’s hair, curving his palm over his jaw. Waiting for a moment to see what Dean would do; pull away? Move closer? When Dean didn’t move, Castiel tenderly pressed his lips against the other man’s. For a second, there was no response, and Castiel feared he had made a grave error. It took but a few heartbeats before Dean made a sound low in his throat. His arms came around Castiel’s waist, just holding, no yanking close, no harsh movement, just caution.

“Uhh. Guys?” Sam’s voice interrupted their slow exploration of taste, texture and reactions. “Can we like…go back? I don’t have a problem with you making out in the middle of nowhere but I’m freezing here.”

Dean pulled back, his freckled face blushing bright red. “Damn it, Sammy.”

Sam was leaning easily on the open door of the back seat of the Impala, chin to palm.

Castiel stepped back, silently moving around to the passenger side door. He met Dean’s eyes over the top of the Impala, and he gave him the brief flash of a smile. Dean returned a tremulous grin.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel sat down in front of the four screens that he’d set up for his surveillance and incursion into Heyerdahl’s network. Dean set down a cup of coffee to muttered thanks from the distracted Angel. He stood behind Castiel for a time, watching the process, but it was incomprehensible to his untrained eyes.

Eventually, he gave up and headed to his room. It was nearing on three am and he needed sleep.

 

The sun woke Dean at seven, shifting enough to slant bright light across his face. He groaned and turned over, pressing his face into the pillow. It was no good. The bed was too…soft and he needed to take a piss.

He clambered out, shivering as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He adjusted the waistband of his sleep pants and scrubbed his palm over his bare chest, yawning widely.

After taking care of business, he padded downstairs, yanking a battered shirt over his head, the light chill of the house bringing goosebumps on his flesh. The kitchen and its supply of coffee was beckoning. He slapped the powersupply on and fetched a cup from the cupboard.

“If you’re making a cup, I would appreciate more.”

Dean jumped at the sound of the gravelly voice and turned. “Cas, jeez.” He narrowed his eyes at the sight of the dark bruising beneath those dull, slightly bloodshot, blue eyes. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

“No.” Castiel pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead.

Dean’s jaw clenched in disapproval. “Hope you found something good, then.”

“Yes.” Castiel pressed his fingers into the visibly rigid muscles of his neck. “At least, I think so. I got access to his network and found some interesting information.”

“So give it to the cops?”

“The stuff I have doesn’t put me, you or Sam out of harms way. Even if he is arrested, his network will continue on until he makes it out of jail.” Castiel wearily leaned back against the kitchen bench. Dean doctored his coffee with milk and sugar and handed it over. Castiel clutched it gratefully in both hands and took a fortifying sip.

“You should sleep,” Dean said.

“Would you? The clock is ticking. Heyerdahl will already know something is going on. The SFD will have cleared the place and told him they were just smoke bombs.”

“Okay. Well. Give me a moment.” Dean set down his coffee and gestured for Castiel to turn around. “Headache, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel blinked slowly, as though even that action hurt.

“Turn around.”

 

Uneasily, Castiel complied, setting his coffee cup next to Dean’s. He stiffened when he felt Dean’s hands on his shoulders. Then when those strong thumbs pressed into the muscles of his upper back, he groaned, letting his chin drop.

The thumbs slid up over the aching muscles of his neck, and ripples of pain radiated out for a sickening moment, before fading. His eyes closed, and his shoulders released from their rigid posture and he splayed his palms on the kitchen counter, leaning into it.

Dean carefully manipulated his right shoulder and Castiel was humiliated whena whimper fell from his lips. When he hit the spot just to the right of his spine, his legs went weak.

“Holy crap,” Castiel muttered. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“Knew a guy who was a masseuse,” Dean said easily, before his fingers slid back up Castiel’s neck and into the untidy, silky strands of his hair.“I picked up some things.”

“I say you did.” Castiel gave a sigh of relief.

Dean fingernails lightly trailed over his neck and he shivered involuntarily before turning around. Dean dropped his hands but didn’t back off and Castiel didn’t step away either. In fact, he turned in place until he faced Dean.

Dean reached up and traced his thumb over the sharp line of Castiel’s cheekbone. Castiel drew in a shaky breath.

“I should get back to it.”

“Yeah.”

Neither moved.

That is, until Castiel closed the distance between them and slanted his lips over Dean’s. With a low sound in his throat, Dean scraped his fingernails over Castiel’s scalp and deepened the kiss.

Castiel made a sound, his strong fingers skimming up Dean’s hips and under his shirt to the smooth skin beneath.

“Ahem.”

Dean broke the kiss, groaned and leaned his forehead on Cas’. “Sammy, I swear, I’m gonna get you a bell.”

“Well if you two are gonna keep making out in the kitchen, you can expect to get sprung.” Sam yawned and headed for the coffee machine.

Castiel swallowed and stepped away from Dean. “I have to get back to my research.” He gestured with a thumb behind him.

“Yeah. You…uhh… do that.” Dean cleared his throat. Castiel left, and he thunked his head down on the kitchen bench.

Sam gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and sipped his coffee. He headed for the couch and sat down, one bare foot crossing the bare blade of his prosthetic.

“Handling this like a champ, buddy.”

“Shut up.” Dean straightened and picked up his coffee.

“So he definitely seems to have gotten past the you trying to kill him?”

“Hilarious, little brother.”

“Just trying to help.”

“Uh huh.” Dean scrubbed his hand over his scalp.

“Being serious, man, what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“About Cas. When all this is sorted?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” Sam frowned at his brother.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Dean crossed his arms defensively.

“Clearly the two of you have a …thing.” Sam gestured vaguely. “When all this is done there is no reason why you can’t have a thing.”

“Really? You don’t?” Dean snarled, his tone dripping sarcasm. He held up a clenched fist and popped up his forefinger. “I’m a killer for hire. Who tried to kill him. That’s not something you get over.” Second finger. “He’s an Angel. His sister is in Angel. And I’m completely messed up.” Third finger. “He lives in Seattle. He has a home. And family. I live out of a suitcase. I travel the world.” Fourth finger. He hesitated and frowned down at his hand.

Sam’s brows winged up. “That’s the whole list?”

“There’s …one more.” Dean clenched his fist. “He’s a good guy. A really good guy. I’m not. Even if all this wasn’t going down, I don’t deserve a guy like that.”

Sam dropped his gaze from Dean’s.

“See?” Dean gave a soft, self deprecating laugh. “Even you agree.”

 

Castiel bowed his head and closed his eyes.

He had heard every bitter word.

He sighed and pushed away from the wall and headed to his workspace.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean plated the three steaks next to the huge mounds of creamy mashed potatoes. He padded to the sink on bare feet and dropped the pan in. He glanced over at Sam, reading something on a tablet.

“Dinner’s ready.”

No response from the big moose.

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean picked up the plates and dumped one in front of his brother. He set the other at the vacant space that would be his.

“Huh?”

Dean gestured. “Dinner.”

“Oh, thanks.” Sam glanced at the empty seat that should contain Cas. “Where’s Cas?”

“The Angel is still nose deep in research.” Dean picked up Castiel’s dinner and knife and fork. He headed for the kitchen door and was brought up short by an exhausted looking Cas who nonetheless had a smile on his face.

“I found it,” he rasped.

Dean gaped at him. “You found…what?”

“I found a link between him and a slave ring bringing in women from countries in eastern Europe. It was tough to find…” He ground the heel of his hand into his eyes. “But I got it. It should be enough to take down his entire network.”

“Hey, that’s great.” Dean couldn’t stop the grin. He was proud. Why was he proud? “That’s seriously awesome. Here. You haven’t eaten much.” He held the plate out.

Castiel took the plate with a simple, “Thanks.” He sat down opposite Sam and blinked owlishly in the bright overhead lights. “This looks good.”

Dean sat next to him. “So what now?”

“I call Hannah and pass the information onto the relevant authorities.”

Dean nodded. “Cool.”

“Then we all get back to our lives.”

Dean’s fork hit the plate with a clatter and he stood up. “Yeah. Great. So…uhh…I gotta take care of some stuff.” He swiped his hands down his thighs. “Pack up some stuff. That kind of thing.”

“Mmhmm.” Castiel nodded, oblivious.

Sam just glanced between the two men, and sighed. His brother was an idiot.

 

“Hannah? I got it. I got the information.”

Dean listened to Castiel’s end of the conversation as he dumped another bag on the dining room table, now cleared of debris dinner.

“Sure. Yeah. Yeah, I will get Dean to drive me in.” Castiel paced the floor. “No. You don’t have to send a driver.” Castiel glanced at Dean, ocean blue clashing with olive green. “Because I trust him to get me there.” He went back to pacing.

Dean’s hand clenched around the handle of his bag and he stared at the battered canvas. Castiel’s voice trailed off as he headed to his office.

“Hey. So, this is it, huh?” Sam’s voice interrupted his reverie.

“Yep.” Dean shoved back from the table, and couldn’t meet Sam’s gaze.

“Be glad to get back to real life,” Sam drawled, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the door frame.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut the hell up. Please.”

Dean stomped back upstairs.

 

“Dean?”

Dean turned from his study of the rain streaked street below. Castiel stood in his doorway fidgeting with his phone. “Yeah?”

“Hannah wants to catch up in the morning. You can drop me off at the offices there.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Castiel hesitated. “You okay?”

“Absolutely. This is great. You can get back to your real life. Helping people…that kind of thing.” Dean jammed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his feet. He stared resolutely at the carpet.

“Yes.” Castiel stepped into the room and approached hesitantly. “What about you? What will you do?”

Dean shrugged, and licked his suddenly dry lips. “Go back to my life.”

“But you hate your life.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. But it’s still mine.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Castiel’s hand raised as though he wanted to touch Dean. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean snapped vehemently. “Don’t sweat it, man.”

Castiel tilted his head, studying Dean with that quiet intensity that had him shifting uncomfortably. “I’m concerned about you.”

“Don’t be.” Dean’s hands clenched into fists. “Just because we locked lips a couple times, doesn’t mean anything.”

Castiel’s chin jerked up, and his eyes went dull. “Right. Sure.”

“Go catch some sleep. You haven’t had much.” Dean stalked to the door and held it open.

Castiel turned on his heel and walked out. As he drew level with Dean he met his gaze intently for several seconds before stepping out into the hallway. Dean slammed the door shut behind him and leaned on it, scrubbing his hands over his face.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean snorted awake.

_What was that? What was that sound?_

He scrambled out of bed and picking up his pistol from the bedside table, he headed for the hallway.

Moving swiftly, he checked Sam’s room, but the big moose was faceplanted in bed, fast asleep with one foot dangling over the end. He closed the door, and headed further down toward Castiel’s room. The door was open.

Dean peered inside, unwilling to disturb the guy in case he was sleeping, but the bed was still made and Cas was nowhere to be seen.

He went still as he heard a sound coming from downstairs. Moving swiftly, he headed down. Cas was zipping up the bag of weapons Dean had gathered up the previous evening and stepping back. He had a pistol in hand and was checking the clip.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, his tone hard.

Castiel continued calmly, setting the pistol on the table, his jaw set in rigid lines. “Leaving.”

“What? Why?” Dean slid the safety back and set his gun down.

Castiel shot him a glance. “My business.”

“Damn it, Cas. You can’t just walk out of here without saying anything. What is going on?”

“I have something I have to take care of.”

“What?”

“Dean. Don’t worry about it.” This was said from between gritted teeth.

Dean strode forward, and reached out to grip Castiel on the upper arms. “You were prepping a weapon. You were getting out of here without telling me or Sam. Just gonna walk away.” He searched Castiel’s face. “Who got to you?”

“No one.”

“Let me help.” Dean insisted. “Sammy and I, we want to help.”

Castiel swayed toward him and his eyes closed.

“Cas. C’mon, man.” Dean slid his hand up to close over the other man’s shoulder. “I know you well enough to know something is going on.”

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Sam’s sleep blurred voice came from the door way.

Dean dropped his hand and kept his eyes on Castiel while he spoke to Sam. “He was about to take off without telling us. Something has gone wrong and wasn’t going to ask for help.”

Sam limped into the room, steadying himself on the doorframe as he tiredly found his balance on the curved blade of his prosthetic. “Cas?”

“The two of you are infuriating,” Castiel complained. Dean’s thumb was tracing distracting circles on his bicep. “Why can’t you just let it alone?”

“You’re a friend, Cas.” Sam leaned against the kitchen bench, propping his weight on his elbows. “More than a friend. You helped me walk again when I was drowning in self pity. You have earned more from me than my poker buddies.”

“You don’t have poker buddies, Sam,” Castiel replied drily.

“If I had poker buddies…”

“Not helping, Sam,” Dean muttered. “But he has a point. You gotta know we care…I care…”

Castiel swallowed. “Don’t say that. You can’t say that.”

“Right.” Dean shifted awkwardly.

Castiel chewed on his lower lip, and Dean’s gaze dropped to his mouth before snapping back up. A few moments of silence ensued, then Castiel withdrew his phone. He unlocked it and handed it to Dean with the messages displayed on the screen.

Dean studied the message. “What are you…” He paused and his brow grew thunderous. “You were going to go?”

“What’s going on?” Sam shuffled forward.

Dean handed Sam the phone. The younger Winchester’s eyes widened. “Cas… why wouldn’t you tell us?”

“She’s my sister.” Castiel gestured helplessly.

Sam read the message aloud. “Your sister wants you to come on over for a visit. You might want to hurry.”

“That asshole Alastair…” Dean snarled.

“That was my conclusion also.”

Dean gripped Castiel’s shirt. “You were going to go and put yourself into Alastair’s hands.”

“I couldn’t leave Hannah with him,” Castiel said simply.

“You don’t know what Alastair can do.” Dean stepped into his space.

“That’s my cue…” Sam straightened. “I’m going to get changed. Meet you at the car in fifteen.” He limped out, ignored completely by Castiel and Dean.

“I watched him kill someone.”

Dean reached up and curled his hand around the back of Castiel’s neck. “Cas, he can do worse. So much…worse. He will take you and break you, and I can’t deal with that. I can’t watch him do that.”

“He has…my sister.” Castiel’s voice broke.

“And we will get her out,” Dean said softly, pulling Castiel toward him. Castiel went willingly and Dean wrapped his arms around him. Castiel’s brow went to Dean’s shoulder. “We will get her out, Cas. I promise.”

 

They were parked in an alleyway a block away from Hannah’s house. It was pitch black. In the illumination from a small torch, Dean grimly handed his brother the assault rifle from it’s rack in the boot of his Baby. With ease, Sam checked the magazine and safety.

“You sure, Sammy?” Dean asked him softly.

“Not gonna leave you to face that asshole on your own.” Sam pulled the sling over his head. He slipped a pistol into his thigh holster.

“I’m standing right here,” Castiel straightened from foraging in the back of the Impala, his hands full of communications tech. “And I’m not just a tech guy.” He handed one of the devices to Dean, then the other to Sam. “Channel 15.”

They put in their earpieces.

Dean handed Castiel a pistol. “You good?” he asked softly.

“Thank you for this, Dean.” Castiel gave him a faint smile.

Dean grinned back. “Don’t sweat it, Angel-boy.” He slammed the boot of the Impala.

They turned to face the house that Hannah called home.

Dean hefted his rifle.

“Let’s go.”


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel knelt on the rug in Hannah’s lounge room. His head pounded sickeningly, and he wasn’t sure his right shoulder wasn’t dislocated. His hands were bound tightly by zip ties, and blood dripped down on the cream carpet beneath him.

With effort, he raised his head and looked at the man seated comfortably on one of the couches, rifle leaning against his thigh with his hands linked behind his head in arrogant ease. The smile on the lips he had kissed made Castiel sick to the stomach. _How could he have trusted him?_

“I will transfer the money into your account, Mister Winchester.” Castiel closed his eyes at the sound of the husky drawl. It sent shudders into his stomach.

“Great.” Dean unlinked his hands from behind his head.

“Didn’t expect you to deliver him alive and kicking.”

Dean still refused to look at Castiel. “Contract didn’t specify.”

“Well.” There was the sound of hands slapping sharply on the leather arms of Hannah’s armchair. “Time to get this slippery little fish and his inquisitive little nose back to my place.”

Fingers slid into the back of Castiel’s hair and his head was yanked back sharply. He was forced to look up into a pair of darkest, sharklike eyes. He made a small sound in his throat.

“The girl is all yours, Huntsman. Do what you do best.” Alastair nodded at his henchmen. They pulled Castiel to standing.

Through chapped, bleeding lips, Castiel whispered hoarsely, “How could you?”

Dean shrugged easily. “You were just a job. I got paid.”

They hauled Cas away.

 

Dean remained seated for a few minutes while Alastair and his men took off, Castiel slumped between them. He stood slowly, headed for the windows and stared down at the street until the trio of black four wheel drives headed off.

He let out a shaking breath.

The woman staring at him from her bound position on a kitchen chair had daggers in her eyes. Her mouth was bound with cloth and duct tape. Dean walked toward her and pulled a knife from his thigh holster. Flipping it once in an unconscious gesture, he watched her flinch back but nonetheless meet his gaze.

He reached behind her head, slid the knife beside the fabric knot and severed it. He removed the gag and listened to Hannah take in a deep breath.

“You asshole,” she hissed through eyes blinded with sudden tears.

“Believe me, I know.” Dean knelt and severed the ties binding her arms and legs. He stood, found himself toe to toe with five foot nine of furious Angel. The clenched fist exploded pain in his jaw and he staggered.

He saw stars and held out a defensive hand. “I deserved that. I did. But you are going to need me to get your brother back.”

“You have done enough,” Hannah snarled. “And that man is going to hurt my brother, if not kill him, before we can get to him.”

“Yeah, he probably will try. But I didn’t have a choice.”

Hannah shoved his shoulder. “You should have stopped him. Isn’t that what you told Cas you would do? Stop Heyerdahl? So why didn’t you? Why did you just…hand my brother over to that…that sadistic bastard?”

Dean ran his hand through his hair. “He got captured when he came in through the door too soon. He didn’t wait. His only thought was to get to you and Sam wasn’t in position and I couldn’t get there in time. I had to improvise fast.”

“Well you are done here.” Hannah marched to a desk drawer and pulled out a phone. She dialled the number. “Zeke? I need a team. Heyerdahl has Castiel. One hour.” She hung up and turned those furious eyes back on Dean. “Get out of my apartment. Get out of my life. Get out of my brother’s life before I get you arrested. I’m sure the cops would love to know the real identity of the Hunstman.”

She plucked her keys from a side table and headed for the door.

 

“Dean…” Sam limped up. “What are we going to do?”

Dean stared at the dark maw of the street where the car containing Castiel, the man who had occupied his thoughts these past couple of weeks. He closed the front door of Hannah’s home.

“I don’t…” Dean was uncertain. For the first time in his life he was so uncertain.

Sam gripped Dean by his jacket. “Do you like him?”

Dean reached up and grabbed Sam’s wrist to pull him off. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Sam tightened his fist. “Shut up and listen. This guy? He’s a good guy. You were a good guy. You just forgot it for a while. And what you have been doing over the past couple weeks? That’s the Dean I used to know.”

“Yeah well, look how that went,” Dean said bitterly.

“You know it was the right thing to do. And I see the way you look at him.”

“Look, I’m not going to deny that the guy is incredible. And yeah, the kissing was great…” He let out a long groan.

“So I ask again… what are we going to do?”

Dean chewed on his lower lip. “Go rescue Cas?”

Sam slammed his fist into Dean’s shoulder. “There we go!”

Dean bent over. “Ow! Jeez, you asshole. That hurt.”

“Suck it up. C’mon. We gotta beat the enthused team of goodytwoshoes…”

Dean smiled crookedly despite himself. He took a slow breath. “You sure you are in?”

Sam slung his arm over Dean’s shoulder. “You’re my brother. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence and torture (nothing graphic though).

There was little time for planning. Sam took the shotgun and jammed a pistol in a simple holster that he strapped on. Dean handed him a knife. Sam hesitated.   
“Just in case,” Dean said bluntly.   
Sam nodded, and slid it into the loop beside the holster.   
Dean took the M4 and extra clips, slipping them into his tacvest webbing.  
“Plan?” Sam asked simply.   
“Get in. Take them down fast.” Dean handed over a couple of tear grenades. “Don’t stop until we have Cas.”   
Sam nodded. “We’ll get him back.”

The fence surrounding Heyerdahl’s compound gave Sam a little trouble, though less than Dean would have thought. Going through, they shut down the visible cameras. There were probably others - Heyerdahl was a cautious man, but the destruction of property gave Dean a small amount of satisfaction.   
The grounds were quiet this time of night, though several more guards than usual stood at watchful attention. The brothers skirted the grounds, moving fast, for the back of the house. Cas was in there. The car he had been bundled into sat now in front of the house, slightly askew on the driveway, a few metres of skid mark behind the tires as though the car were forced to stop at speed.   
Dean took it as a sign that Castiel was alive and maybe he was still fighting.   
He could only hope he would be forgiven.

Castiel’s head lolled bonelessly against his chest as he fought back the darkness that tried to claim him. His fingers felt thick and numb where they were suspended above his head.   
“You are making a very foolish choice…” Alistair’s oddly flat voice taunted Castiel from behind. “You will speak. Spill all your little secrets.”   
Castiel shuddered involuntarily as the cold edge of a blade trailed up his back and cut, needle sharp, into the flesh of his shoulder. He struggled to find his feet. The stone was cold, rough, and sticky. He slipped and the ache in his shoulders spiked into his scalp, sending him spiralling toward unconsciousness.   
The shock of icy water smashing his face and chest had his eyes going wide. He choked against the deluge.   
“That’s better…” came the sinister voice again. “I’m a busy man. Now come on.” Alistair’s narrow, bearded face filled his sight, the sharks eyes narrowing on Castiel.   
Castiel met the man’s gaze with the knowledge he was going to die aching in his chest.   
“I found the slavery ring,” Castiel said hoarsely.   
Alistair’s lip curled in a snarl. “Nosy little Angel, aren’t you?” He pushed the handle of the knife into Castiel’s shoulder, making him lose his tentative footing, the chain’s above clinking in protest at his body weight. “Who did you tell?”   
“Hannah.” It didn’t matter. She was dead.  
The knife blade was under his jaw, pressing into the flesh of his throat, Alistair hovered mere inches away, his breath curling against Castiel’s mouth in a parody of intimacy.  
“And she’s dead.” Alistair chuckled hoarsely. “Where is the evidence now?”  
Castiel closed his eyes. It couldn’t matter now. “On my computer. I was meeting Hannah to hand it over.”   
He lied. He lied with all his being. Sam and Dean had a copy. Not that it mattered. They wouldn’t help. Dean had betrayed him. Maybe there was still hope with Sam.   
“You mean this one?” Alistair held up the slim silver casing from a trolley.  
Castiel nodded slowly, and watched, as Alistair tossed it to one of his henchmen.   
“Destroy it.” Alistair ordered, then approached Castiel again. He splayed his huge palm against Castiel’s face, slid his fingers into his hair then tugged back sharply to make Castiel meet his gaze. “This one is done. Kill him and dump the body in the Sound.”   
The sound of the explosion beyond the doors echoed in the room. Castiel flinched as Alistair’s fist tightened.   
“Who’s coming to get you, Angel boy?” He hissed.   
“No one…” Castiel said, his throat raw. “There is no one.”   
Alistair snarled and left him.   
Castiel hung there for an eternity, dizziness blurring his vision, the slow slide of blood from a head injury blinding his right eye. His shoulders joined his hands and went numb.  
The distant sound of gunfire had him only mildly curious.   
No one was coming for him.

Dean grimaced as he hit the wall beside the door. He ducked as the plaster exploded beside his head, his ears ringing as Sam pulled him down. He watched as Sam pulled one of the grenades he had given him, and opening the door, slung it inside.   
The sound of shouting from the room was sudden and panicked as Dean took a slow breath. The door opened and figures shrouded in the sticky smoke stumbled out, coughing, trigger fingers slack on forgotten weapons.   
They didn’t even get a chance.   
“Where now?” Sam asked him, eyes bright behind the mask.   
“Downstairs. Through there.” His voice was muffled in reply as he pointed toward the now empty room. “Haven’t seen Alistair yet.”   
“He’s here. We’ll get him.” Sam promised.

“HUNTSMAN!”  
The howl was loud across the room.   
“I’M GOIN’ TO RIP YOUR FUCKIN’ LUNGS OUT!”  
“Well…” Dean said, as they crouched behind a cabinet. “On the bright side, we found him?”   
Sam snorted, glanced around and was brought jerking back as bullets pinged off the metal. “Any ideas?”   
Dean grimaced, considering. The room was larger than he had expected. They had come down the stairs and nearly walked into a hail of fire. Bit stupid, but he hadn’t been thinking entirely clearly. He knew from the gnawing of his gut, Cas was down here.   
And it was his fault.   
He reached out and gripped Sam’s shoulder, his fist curling into the fabric. “I’m trusting you to get to him.”   
“What? What are you going to do?” Sam stared at him, eyes wide.  
“Get ready.” Dean checked his clip. “You might only get one chance.”   
“He’s waiting back there!” Sam protested. “He will mow you down.”   
Dean gritted his teeth and met Sam’s concerned gaze. “Get to Cas. Get him out.” And before his brother could stop him, he headed out into a hail of bullets.   
“Dean! No!” Sam swallowed against the fear in his throat, the protest snarling in his head. He pressed the knuckle of his right forefinger into his brow, fighting back the sudden onrush of tears. He had to get Cas.   
Dean said.

“Cas?”   
Cas figured he must be dreaming. He didn’t even have the energy to lift his chin from his chest. A hand touched his face, the fingers calloused, but gentle.   
“Cas…”   
Sam’s voice.   
“I’m gonna get you down.”   
The tension suddenly came off his shoulders as strong arms lifted him up, bearing his weight. The pain was unbearable as blood flooded back into his limbs and he finally lost the fight with consciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar angsty angst angst. 
> 
> But there is one more chapter coming, I promise.

When Castiel surfaced from the forgiving dark, he was lying in bed alone in a quiet room that smelled like disinfectant. His head ached and when he rose his hand, a sharp pinch in the skin made him still. A machine beeped in protest at his motion, and a tall shadow loomed over him.   
“Hey, you’re awake. Welcome back.”   
“Sam?” Castiel rasped.   
“Yeah. Hey. How d’ya feel?”   
Castiel considered the question. “Thirsty.”   
Sam chuckled and reached for the plastic jug of water. He brought the cup to Castiel, then helped him sit up to drink it. Castiel took the moment to study the room. When he was resting back on the pillows, he asked softly, “Hannah?”   
“She’s fine.” Sam pressed his hand onto Castiel’s shoulder. “Absolutely fine. Mad as hell that you walked into the trap, but she said she would be here in the morning. She had to take care of some things.”   
Castiel closed his eyes in relief, before his throat tightened again. “And Dean? What happened after…”  
Sam’s face fell. “He’s… uhh.”   
“He’s what?” Castiel struggled up a little again, his ribs screaming. “He’s gone? Taken off?”   
“Yes.” Sam said hesitantly.   
Castiel clenched his fist. “What about the data? The stuff I got from his network? I gave a copy to Dean…”   
“He gave it to me. It’s alright. Heyerdahl has been arrested and charged.”   
Castiel leaned back on his pillow, eyes stinging. “Good.” He frowned, and opened his eyes. “How did you get me out? I don’t remember…” He raised a hand to his forehead, and ignored the beeping of the monitors. “I remember your voice.”   
Sam lowered himself into a chair, his elbows on his knees and chin propped on his linked fingers. He rubbed his thumb on his lower lip. “The Angels got you out. I just got to you first.”   
“Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it. Really.”   
“Sure.”  
“Tired.”  
“Sleep, man. It’s all good. Hannah will be here in a while. She’ll be glad you are awake.”

Sam slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him as Hannah sat down beside her brother. He rubbed his hand over his chest. It ached.   
He headed down the corridor, pushed the button to call the elevator and waited for it to arrive. He stared at the tired institutional blue of the walls. The doors slid open and he stepped on.   
He hit the button for the ICU.

“How is he?” Sam asked the nurse as she did her obs. He stared at the still form of his brother, face obscured by an oxygen mask, his chest a swath of bandages.   
“Stable.” The pretty blonde nurse with the name ‘Jessica Moore’ on her tag slid the chart into the holder at the foot of Dean’s bed. “Have you slept, Mister Winchester?”   
“I will.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.   
“Go sleep. The doc does good work. Your brother won’t be awake until nightfall at the earliest. He needs time to sleep. To heal.” She reached out and rubbed his arm.   
Sam nodded, and gave her a sad smile, moving to stand beside the bed.   
“You aren’t going anywhere, are you?” She shook her head in bemusement.   
Sam took his place in the ancient padded chair. “Nope.”   
She studied him for a moment and nodded. “Alright. I will arrange for a meal for you.”   
“You don’t have to do that,” Sam protested.  
Jess smiled. “I don’t want two patients. Trust me, hospital jello is nothing special.” She winked and headed out the door, closing it behind her.  
Sam huffed a half laugh, and smiled a little. “Hey, Dean. You should check out the nurse. Pretty as hell.” He reached out and took his brother’s hand. “So, Cas thinks you didn’t help him. I don’t get it, man. You should tell him the truth.” He stared at the long fingers clutched in his. They were scarred and calloused. Strong. “You should wake up and tell him the truth.” His voice broke a little. He cleared his throat. “Please wake up, okay?”  
His only reply was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Castiel lifted the spoonful of bright green jello and let it slop back down to the bowl with a grimace of displeasure. He rolled his eyes and let the spoon clatter to the tray before swiping his hands on the sheets overlaying his lap.   
“Pretty revolting, huh?” Nurse Moore was back, beaming at him over the top of the chart she held in her hands, scribbling notes.   
“That’s not the word for it,” he said flatly.   
“I’m sure you are happy to be getting out of here tonight.” Jess put the chair back, before stepping up beside him and straightening his blankets. “Sam said he would drop in on you before you took off. His brother is doing alright, but it was a close thing.” She shook her head. “Poor guy.”  
“I’m sorry?” Castiel pushed back the tray table, and it spun on its wheels, startling Jess. “What did you say?”   
“Sam said he would-”   
“Not that…” Castiel snapped, and shoved back the blankets. “About his brother.”   
“Dean? Yes. I believe he was brought in at the same time as you. I don’t know the details but he had several surgeries overnight to fix the damage. All those bullet wounds.” She shook her head. “It’s incredible he is even still alive.”   
Castiel’s feet found the floor and he wavered just a little. Jess came immediately to his side and grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip.   
“I want to see him,” he said emphatically.   
“I don’t think-”  
“He saved my life, Miss Moore,” Castiel said softly. “Please.”  
Jessica still looked uncertain, her teeth caught in her lower lip. “I guess if you don’t stay too long.”

Castiel stood in the doorway of Dean’s room. He was out of ICU and into a private suite. Eyes closed, he bore the weight of medical monitoring equipment and multiple bandages.   
Taking a step on suddenly unsteady legs, he drew the attention of Sam reading in the chair beside the bed.   
“Cas…” Sam drew to his feet, a guilty glance between Dean and Castiel.   
“Why didn’t you tell me?”   
Sam shoved a hand into his hair, and couldn’t meet that steady blue gaze. “He asked me not to.”  
“I don’t understand.” Castiel approached the bed, and stared down at the unconscious man. “You said the Angels got me out.”   
“Dean and I got there first. Took down Heyerdahl’s men. Then Heyerdahl was between us and you, Dean sent me to get you while he dealt with Heyerdahl. He didn’t even give me a chance to stop his stubborn ass.”   
Castiel pressed a hand to his temple that throbbed painfully with every moment. “But he handed me to him.”  
“He wasn’t given a choice,” Sam said somberly. “You and Hannah out of action. Once you were gone, he released Hannah. She was pretty pissed off and demanded we stay out of it, that we had done enough.” Sam grimaced. “We ignored that one.”   
“And he got shot. Rescuing me.” Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s hand. “Heyerdahl is alive? That wasn’t a lie, was it?”   
“No. Not a lie. Dean didn’t pass out until after Heyerdahl was dragged away by the Angels. I handed you to them, and went back and got him. His only words were not to tell you he was there. He’s going to be ticked that I told you.”   
Castiel breathed softly, the ache deep in his chest not a result of the physical beating he had taken. He brushed his thumb over Dean’s knuckles, before lifting his gaze to Sam’s.   
“Don’t tell him,” Castiel said softly.   
“What?” Sam was shocked.   
“Don’t tell him you told me. Let him walk away from all this. It’s done. That’s what he wanted. What he wanted me to think.”   
“No, hey. That’s not what he meant.” Sam scrambled, his words tumbling one over the other. “He was in pain. Bleeding out. He didn’t mean…”  
“It’s okay, Sam.” Castiel let go of Dean’s hand and stepped back. “It’s for the best. There was never any possibility of anything more. Not really. It’s best he thinks I’m still angry with him.”   
As Castiel limped out, Sam dropped into his seat and covered his face with his hands. This was a mess.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me. I had some pretty severe stress-induced writer's block these past weeks.   
> It's all done now. Hope you enjoyed!

Castiel sat at his desk despondently typing his notes. He rapped the enter key, hit save and leaned back in his chair.  
“Hey, Novak? I’m heading out. You good to lock up?” Gabe rapped on his office doorframe and waved farewell.  
“Yeah. I got it.” Castiel waved back. “I have some stuff I need to take care of here for a bit longer.”  
“See you tomorrow.”  
“Yeah. See you,” Castiel echoed.  
He listened for Gabe’s departure, and dropped his forehead into his palm, pressing thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. He was so freaking tired. The past couple months had been a nightmare of police interviews, Hannah harassing … no, sorry, ‘looking out for his welfare’ and missing the hell out of a certain Winchester with olive green eyes.  
He picked up his phone and studied the message that had been sitting there for three days. Sam. Just asking how he was going. Castiel had typed a message in reply three times. And three times he had deleted it. He tapped the device on the edge of his desk.  
Should he reply? It would be the polite thing to do, right? After all, it would be like finally closing the door on that chapter. Biting his lower lip, he typed out his reply.  
_I’m doing fine. Back to work. How are you? How is Dean?_  
He hit send before he could think more about it, stared at the screen for a moment, regret washing over him, and jammed it back in his pocket. Shutting off his computer, he stood up, turned off the overhead lights and walked out into the main PT room to check all the doors were locked.  
His pocket buzzed.  
No.  
He wouldn’t act like a fool and check his messages straight away.  
Showing remarkable restraint, he turned off all the lights, and headed for the front doors. The air was chilly, the sun already set, as he stepped outside and locked the front doors.  
His car was alone in the parking lot, and a slow churning in his gut had him moving that much faster, memories of the last time he was last to leave making his throat tighten.  
He sat in the front seat of his car, locked the door and while he breathed slow to stave off the panic attack, he fumbled with his keys. Setting them in the ignition, he felt his pocket buzz again.  
Before Castiel could turn on the ignition, he leaned back against the headrest.  
Who was he kidding? He wanted to read those messages more than anything.  
He pulled the phone out and studied the screen.  
2 Messages.  
Sam Winchester.  
He opened them.  
_Glad you are doing alright. I’m good. Not much going on up here. It’s pretty cold at nights now._  
He thumbed the second message and went cold.  
_Dean’s not going so well though. He isn’t recovering as well as I would hope. But he’s tough. I’m sure he will pull through. The air up here on the ranch is sure to do him good._  
Well, that’s to be expected. Castiel tried to reassure himself. He got shot. Several times. Nowhere too vital, but still, a few weeks of recovery.  
Castiel started his car, and set it in reverse. He hesitated.  
Fuck it.

Dean limped out onto the verandah, his expression one of barely veiled frustration. He breathed in the cool air and closed his eyes, drawing in the faint aroma of coffee as the wisps of steam coiled upward from the mug clutched in his fist.  
The sound of a vehicle drew his attention. It was rare enough out here that anyone drove these roads, least of all up the front driveway. He pulled out his phone and remotely accessed the security system.  
It was a car he didn’t recognise, a grey nondescript sedan, and the driver was shadowed within.  
“Hey, Sammy. You expecting anyone?” He called out.  
Within moments, Sam joined him, confusion knitting his brow. “Huh?”  
Dean showed him the phone. “Look familiar?”  
Sam studied the screen and a slow grin curved his lips. “Yeah. I recognise it. Don’t go shooting anything, Tex.”  
Dean scowled. “I wasn’t gonna shoot anyone. I don’t do that anymore.”  
“Uh huh.”  
“Not unless they piss me off. Like you are doing now,” Dean grumbled.  
Sam just patted his shoulder in sarcastic sympathy.  
The car was pulling into the circular driveway in front of the house. Sam nimbly headed down the stairs to the crunching gravel, and headed for the driver’s side as Dean watched.  
He couldn’t hear the words spoken, whisked as they were by the early winter winds that brought with it the smell of snow. He watched Sam reach for the driver’s side door, entreating the person within to exit.  
Dean’s throat jammed shut as the driver got out, and stared at him across the expanse of the drive. He set his coffee cup on the railing of the verandah, immediately spilling it onto the garden bed below. He didn’t even notice.  
“Cas,” he murmured.  
And forgetting everything he had decided months ago, that Castiel Novak was a hell of a lot better off without a Dean Winchester in his life, he headed for the stairs.  
Clutching the railing to support his damaged leg muscle that still had some healing to do, he headed down. He drew to a halt in front of a silent Castiel, whose eyes were shaded by sunglasses, a barrier between them.  
“I thought you said he wasn’t recovering.” Castiel’s voice was flat.  
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he spared a glance at his brother. “What did you do, Sam?”  
Sam held out his hands in supplication and gave his best puppy dog look. “I just figured you both need to talk.”  
Silence descended.  
Sam sighed. He pointed at Dean. “Cas, this guy has been moping around the house for weeks. It’s pathetic. He checks his phone constantly and doesn’t know enough to clear his internet history because he has been checking up on you almost daily.”  
Dean opened his mouth to defend himself when Sam rounded on him.  
“Cas knows you saved his life and took those bullets for him.”  
Sam breathed out a heavy sigh of relief and grinned again. “Much better. Now I’m going to go make breakfast. When you have both finished sorting out your respective bullshit, there will be bacon and eggs on the table.” He strode back for the house with barely a backward glance.  
Dean stood with his hands awkwardly tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He stared at Castiel who mirrored his posture, though with far more composure.  
“You knew-”  
“You checked up on me-”  
They stopped speaking over top of one another and lapsed into silence again. Castiel tugged off his sunglasses and tossed them through the open window of his car, letting them bounce on the seat.  
“I’m sorry. Sam led me to believe your recovery was not going well.” Castiel explained, a faint flush building on his cheek.  
Dean glared at the house over his shoulder, and turned back. “I’m doing okay, really.” He hesitated. “So you drove all the way here?”  
Castiel toed his boot into the gravel. “It would seem.”  
“Because you thought I might still be hurt?”  
Castiel’s blush deepened. Dean smiled.  
“That’s pretty awesome, Cas.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out, palm up. “It’s really good to see you.”  
Castiel slid his hand into Dean’s, and they stood, motionless, just kind of …shaking hands. Sort of.  
“It’s good to see you too, Dean.”  
“So Sam spilled the beans, huh?”  
“I figured it out when Miss Moore mentioned you.”  
“Moore?” Dean was confused. Then memory stirred. “Oh right, Nurse Ratchett.”  
Castiel tilted his head. “Ratchett? I don’t understand that reference.”  
“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?” Dean’s voice trailed off. “Never mind. She was tough. Made Sam go home and rest instead of sleeping in that chair.” He stopped. “Right. Shit. You’re here.” He grinned again. “You’re here.”  
Castiel looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t really know why.”  
“You missed me,” Dean said confidently.  
“No,” Castiel muttered.  
Dean’s smile faded, disappointment clouding the inexplicable joy at seeing Cas. “Oh.”  
“It was worse than that. It was more like…longed for you.” Castiel took in a slow breath. “Even knowing I disapproved thoroughly of what you do for a living.” He was scowling. “I found myself wishing for you.”  
Dean felt the hope flare again. "You did?"  
“Why didn’t you want me to know that you hadn’t just handed me over to Heyerdahl and left? Why did you want me to think you were an asshole?”  
Dean wrinkled his nose. “Well, I knew you disapproved of what I did for a living. So I figured you would be better off still thinking that.”  
Castiel lifted a fist and slugged Dean on the arm. “Ass butt.”  
“Ow.” Dean grimaced. “Assbutt? Really?” Amusement warred with the chastisement.  
“If the name fits…” Castiel tried to retrieve his hand, but Dean held on.  
“Don’t leave. Please,” Dean said softly.  
“I’m not going to leave,” Castiel said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I drove all this way. I’m at least going to have the breakfast Sam offered. It’s the least he can do for interfering.”  
Dean let go. “Sure. Yeah.”  
Castiel stepped into his personal space, his gaze locked onto Dean’s, only the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. “Then you and I are going to have a very long discussion about communication.”  
Dean’s lips hovered mere inches from Castiel’s. “We are?”  
“Uh huh.” Closer. “I think we need to clear some things up.”  
“We do?” Dean swallowed hard as Castiel’s long fingers came up and trailed across his belly under the thick layers of his battered old army coat.  
“Mmm hmm.” Dean rocked forward, even as Castiel backed away slightly, and put a staying fingertip against his chest. His eyes were slumberous, as his fist curled into Dean’s t-shirt. He tugged him forward and their lips crashed together.

Sam threw up his arms and did a happy dance in the kitchen.  
“Yes! YES!”  
He yanked out his phone and sent off a quick message.  
_Nailed it!_  
The reply was almost instant.  
_Congratulations. When are you going to come nail me, stud?_  
Sam blushed, checked that Dean was still making out with Cas in the driveway before typing out a quick reply.  
_This weekend. I have a feeling things will be just great here._  
_See you then, handsome. Start shift in 30. Talk to you soon. XX_

“What has you smirking?” Dean complained, as he limped into the kitchen, trailed by Castiel.  
“Not a thing, big brother. Not a thing.” Sam grinned broadly at Dean thinking of a beautiful, intimidatingly smart woman in a nurse's uniform. The good kind. “Coffee, Cas?”  
“More than my life,” Castiel growled.

EPILOGUE

Dean checked the name on the business card, and compared it to the list of employees on the board mounted above the desk.  
“Welcome to Hunter Security. How may I help you, sir?” The young man in a sleek suit greeted him with unfailing politeness.  
“Yeah. Hi. I was uhh…directed to speak with Bobby Singer? I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”  
“Ah yes. We have been expecting you. Right this way.” The man gestured toward a corridor. “My name is Aidan DiMarco. You come highly recommended and with excellent references.”  
“Oh yeah?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”  
Aidan just smiled.

Back out on the street, Dean thumbed Castiel’s number.  
“Hey, Cas? I got the job with Hunter Security.”  
_“You did? Yes!_ ”  
“Tell Hannah thanks for the tip. So you gonna move the rest of your stuff in today?”  
_“I have the boxes ready to go.”_  
“Good. See you after work.”  
Dean hung up in his abrupt way, unable to keep the smile off his face. He hit the text button and tapped out a message. He hit send.  
The reply came back almost immediately.  
_Love you too, assbutt._

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr if you like : silencedaodhan
> 
> I'm quite nice, really.


End file.
